The Rabbit Hole
by StBridgit
Summary: How did Nicky Parsons come to be a logistics agent for a black ops program named Treadstone? What did Jason Bourne make of her when she showed up? The two independents' paths tangle and intertwine prior to the Bourne Identity. Jason/Nicky
1. Chapter 1

**This story is meant to be a prequel to "The Bourne Outcome", so it focuses on Nicky & Jason. I will probably do another one about Aaron & Marta post-Philippines. Please review.**

*Disclaimer: I own nothing, this is purely for fun and I hope you enjoy it.*

-Paris, France-

"So, Ms. Parsons, what makes you think you're the right person for this job?" Alexander Conklin leaned back in the bent wood desk chair, giving her a speculative look over his steepled fingers. The office had an old-fashioned feel to it, in keeping with the older building that housed it in a quiet business district. Nicky had no idea how many other CIA field agents were interviewing for the position, but she was determined to get it. It was a leap ahead in profile, would set her up nicely for quick advancement. The fact that it would piss off her father to a huge degree was an added bonus.

"Sir, I believe that I am the only qualified individual for this job. I have a master's degree in psychology, experience running logistics for field operations across Europe, and I am absolutely not intimidated by the job these men do for us."

Conklin leaned forward. "You mean you're not afraid of them."

Nicky paused. This needed a careful answer. "I think there is a healthy degree of fear, and a foolish degree of caution. In one, you respect the abilities of these assets and seek to provide the support they require to accomplish the tasks set for them. In the other, your own self-preservation instinct would override your ability to notice when something is wrong."

"And which would describe you, Parsons?"

"The first, sir."

"Are you sure, Nicolette? Let's find out." He pressed a button on the phone, stood up. "Here's a list of questions I expect you to ask. You have five minutes to provide me with an assessment." Conklin turned as the door opened and a man walked in. He carried himself with quiet authority, but Nicky's first impression of his body language was that he was utterly forgettable on the street—very dangerous, indeed.

"Bourne, Parsons." With that as an introduction, Conklin left the room for the antechamber, where Nicky had no doubt he would watch the entire interview.

"Please, have a seat," Nicky said, indicating the chair she had swiftly vacated when the door opened. She was glad she had not brought a purse with her, as there was no visual clue that she had been sitting there just seconds prior. She sat down in the desk chair, opened the file that Conklin had left. The tab said, "Bourne", and she took a few seconds to scan the document on top. The questions she could refer to throughout, this was the key right here.

She missed the small quirk of a smile in his eyes as Jason Bourne sat down in the chair she had just vacated and found it warm. He knew exactly why she was here. The last logistics agent had lost it when one of the assets had played with him a bit. Conklin was running ragged trying to keep them going with a bunch of misfit agents for the past week, it was long overdue for him to slot someone else in.

"How are the headaches?" Nicky opened with what she felt was the most pressing issue from the brief perusal of the file. Severe headaches impacted daily functionality, sleep patterns, cortisol levels. It was important to control them and control them effectively, or these men would be more prone to destructive behaviors. Her gaze was steady and direct, her tone all business.

"They are worse at night." Jason didn't give her anything else. _Petit papillon, vous êtes dans la toile d'araignée maintenant_.

"Is there a particular trigger? Does it happen more during any particular activity?" Nicky was scratching a note on the question sheet, her mind already engaged in the potential causes for the headaches.

"Driving aggravates it."

"Headlights from oncoming vehicles, or street lights?"

"Depends." Jason mentally gave her a check mark for getting straight to the lights. Still, she was green. He could see the ambition in her eyes. She needed rattling, and the next question gave him the opening he wanted.

"Does anything seem to help? Any of the meds?"

"Well, the good hard fuck I gave to a whore last night seemed to help." Jason's face was completely expressionless, but his eyes had a hard edge that Nicky didn't miss. _He's testing me_.

"Maybe we will send you to Amsterdam weekly then," she noted briskly, jotted it down on the paper. "Anything else that helps?"

"No." Jason contemplated telling her that it seemed better 24 hours after he killed somebody, but decided it was not worth the shit he'd hear from Conklin about that. Better to let her experience that firsthand. Everybody had to learn.

"We will check on the meds and see what we can do. Any other physical symptoms or problems?"

"No."

"How often are you completing your physical conditioning program?" Her eyes were blank slates, giving away nothing of what she thought of him. _Peut-être que vous avez un peu de fil colonne vertébrale, papillon ... peut-être l'araignée ne vous mènera._

"Every day." He was bored now, and stood up.

"Wait." Nicky's voice was authoritative, sharp. "Tell me about your dreams."

"I don't dream, butterfly." Jason's voice was hard, but he softened a bit on 'butterfly' because he could see she really was determined to do this. Mentally a part of him that was long buried and forgotten sighed. He turned and walked out, nodding to Conklin who drawled a laconic, "Bourne" as his farewell salutation. He'd see him soon enough.

"Well Parsons, out with it." Conklin strode back into the office, where Nicky had enough sense to be correlating her observations with whatever other bits of the file she could cram into her head before Conklin returned.

"He's not agitated, his body language is self-possessed, and he knew exactly why I am here. He was testing me with the comment about the whore, wanted to see how I'd react to a bit of the darker side of life in this office. The headaches are a real problem for him, and they piss him off. He definitely needs tweaking on the Adderall and probably rizatriptan. I would also suggest another full psych screen, he's overdue and doesn't seem like an easy read, so it is badly needed. Without seeing his bloodwork I couldn't comment on his physical condition, but he had no obvious impairments in speech, mannerism, or bodily function."

Conklin was watching her closely, looking for any signs of agitation or increased pulse, anything that said she was not as self-possessed as she claimed for herself in her mannerisms and speaking voice. In that respect she could work out very, very well for dealing with these assets. She was extremely cool in body language and had very few tells—both good traits when working with assassins whose behavior and psychology sometimes became dangerously unhinged. No, the psychologist's profile of Nicolette Parsons said if she cracked, it would be long after any traumatic event, not at the time. That is exactly what Alexander Conklin needed.

"Very good," Conklin walked around the desk, browsed through her notes. He looked up at her. She had resumed her spot across the desk, but had remained standing. Her brief clench of her fist was the only sign that she had some lingering source of unease. "I think you're a great fit for this job, Nicky—now tell me why I should ignore the express orders from Langley and hire you anyway."

A brief cloud crossed her eyes but she didn't clench her fist again. "Because I don't give a damn who my father is or what he's done for the agency. It's my turn to contribute something _on the line_ and this is what I choose to do."

Conklin turned back to the papers, shuffled another file forward, labeled "Parsons". He looked at it, then at her. "Congratulations, you're hired. You start immediately." He stamped TREADSTONE on her papers, passed the file to her with the rest. "Consider that your homework. I'll see you at 0700."


	2. Chapter 2

-Paris, France-

Nicky turned her head briefly, listening to the Dutch police stream. She swiveled in her chair and texted Castel, advising him to avoid the port and stick to trains for his egress route. She didn't receive a reply, but then again she didn't expect to. None of the assets communicated with her voluntarily or unnecessarily. He would simply make the necessary adjustments and code in when he was clear of the aftermath.

Satisfied that the mission was nearly complete, Nicky turned her attention to the maps spread over the dual computer screens. Greece was a challenge for her, with all of its coasts and ports. The Professor was already in play, doing the background surveillance necessary for his assignment. Her job was to arrange the boat and drop-off location. Since none of the assets trusted anyone else, her ticket was already booked for tomorrow to do it herself. Fortunately Conklin had managed to get her father to lay off on the nasty emails each time a new country registered on her fake passport. She reflected briefly that she was soon approaching the point where she was not going to respond at all to any communications from her father. Her mother's abstract and ditzy emails were tolerable but so disconnected from reality as to be laughable. She checked the clock, zoomed in on Panormos. Definitely the right place. She called and booked a hotel, then verified the boat rental from Rethimnon. She was about to click off the monitors—Jason Bourne was due in for his weekly check, she didn't like having details of other missions around—when the phone rang. She listened and made the call.

"Get out. I'll talk to Conklin, maybe it can be salvaged. Can you send the surveillance details? Good. I'll book you in with the doctor tomorrow." Nicky hung up, knew Conklin would not be happy. She was dialing his number when Jason arrived.

"Sit down, I'll be right in," Nicky gestured toward the other office, doing her best to keep her annoyance out of her voice as she angled her head back down to the phone.

"Yes sir, a broken arm. He will be out for at least four weeks—I'm having the company doctor check it tomorrow." Conklin swore on the other end of the line, asked a few more questions. Nicky turned and typed on the computer keyboard, pulling files and sending them to Conklin.

"Now is not a good time, I have a weekly appointment with another asset right now," Nicky said, eyeing the office door and knowing full well that Bourne was not missing a single detail of her side of the conversation. Conklin swore again, asked, "Who is it?"

"It's Bourne, sir." Nicky held her breath. Jason had just completed a mission, hence he had to come in. Standard procedure was to give the assets at least a week off before commencing their next assignment, but she could already see where Conklin's mind was going.

"Give him the assignment. I want a full brief and his game plan by nightfall. Expect final authorization tomorrow morning by 0600. Actually, just put him on the phone, now."

"Yes, sir." Nicky got up and opened the office door. Jason was seated and gave her a hard eyed gaze. She knew he already knew what was coming. "Conklin wants to talk to you." He stood up and brushed by her coldly, already in what Nicky referred to as 'mission mode'. Jason spoke briefly into the phone, hung up and turned to face Nicky.

"Give me the rundown."

Twenty four hours later Nicky was still on a plane to Crete, only this time she was going to rendezvous with Jason Bourne instead of the Professor. Why this made her nervous she didn't know. Jason's style had always been different from the other assets—they each had their "signature" to their missions. Jason's was usually deviously clever and up close and personal, the exact opposite of the Professor. This meant that the whole mission had been reworked on the fly in the past 24 hours, and it made Nicky extremely unhappy. She clutched her purse that contained the last of the supplies Jason needed. She didn't want to think about what they were…it was bad enough that he still required the boat drop. Of all the assets, Jason Bourne was the one who bothered her the most. She fingered her passport and shoved thoughts of the man aside, focusing on her cover story and the dressing. There was always value in appropriate attire, and the rich bitch she was playing briefly required a certain mindset.

If it bothered her at all when she donned a revealing and expensive bikini and sarong to pick up the rental boat, she didn't show it. All part of the job. She efficiently piloted the boat toward the specified beach near Panormos. The waters were filled with families and tourists, plenty of swimmers enjoying the blue-green Mediterranean at the waning end of the day. She cruised along at a slower pace, then dropped anchor and began sunning herself on the deck. It was a spectacular day. She would have really enjoyed it if she weren't consciously waiting for the soft thud of someone coming on board, a reminder that work was never far away. Her hair was fanned out around her shoulders, the picture of a relaxed and spoiled young lady. Unfortunately Bourne was as punctual as ever, meaning Nicky's tan was not going to be improved incidental to her work obligations. She heard him, verified that it was him with a quick look through the D&G sunglasses. She didn't get up immediately, closed her eyes and listened as he padded around to the wheel. Sighing, she rolled over and stood up, the sun briefly kissing her hair as she took off her sunglasses and met Bourne's eyes.

"Time for me to go," she said, preparing to dive off into the waters and swim away to her exit. If she had chosen a white bikini for the childish purpose of poking at Bourne, she wasn't aware of it consciously. Jason, however, had most definitely noticed the semi-transparent nature of the garment. _More flicks of steel from the butterfly_. A part of him was amused, a part of him definitely not.

"Change of plans. There are NATO agents crawling all over. You're going to have to come with me," Jason said grimly, throttling up the boat.

"That's completely against protocol," Nicky protested as the boat started to move off. "If there is any sign of compromise then the mission is off, you know that." She was deeply uncomfortable being alone with him, even more annoyed that he was taking charge as if she was just a lackey under his command. "I'm going to code it in and we will rework it for another time."

Jason grabbed her arm as she moved to enter the cabin, gently but firmly. He met her eyes with a firm and resolute stare. "Did you do the background reading? Because I did. It will be years before this target is accessible again. The mission is in play and the only thing compromising it is YOU. YOU will stay here. YOU will stay quiet. YOU will do as you are told. And **I** will get this done."

"Conklin will go ape-shit over this, Bourne," Nicky said angrily, trying to pull her arm away even though she knew it was unwise. Jason stepped right in front of her and grabbed her other arm, locking both arms to her side and pulling her to his chest.

"Conklin doesn't give a shit about you. He and any other asset would have let you get caught and probably killed in Panormos rather than miss this opportunity at the target. You are replaceable. If you don't realize that, then you're a bigger damn fool than I thought." He kissed her hard on the mouth, allowed himself to enjoy just briefly the way her nipples hardened against his chest, her mouth softened slightly against his for a second. He pulled her back and angrily dismissed her. "Get dressed. It's going to get chilly on the open water."

Nicky's mind was racing. She had been very, very stupid to provoke Jason Bourne. The bikini, the argument, trying to cease the physical contact that set her skin on fire. All rookie mistakes, the kind of things that would get her killed. But he hadn't killed her, even though she had somehow compromised herself. How had she done that? She rubbed her hands on her arms, mentally reviewing all her steps. She couldn't see the connection. Her mind was muddled from Bourne's kiss, that was all. She almost started hyperventilating, thinking about that kiss. What the hell would happen now? _Get ahold of yourself, Nicky_, she mentally castigated herself. It was time to focus on what happened next, the mission and keeping herself out of more danger. Jason was right—not one of the assets would have hesitated to send her off to the beach. So why did he? Nicky didn't want to think about that, swiftly pulled off the swimsuit and put on her dark skirt and lightweight but semitransparent long-sleeved top. The bikini top she kept on—she hadn't brought a bra, intending to look like thousands of other tourists in combined beach/leisure attire. Her drop with a change of clothes was gone in Panormos, the rest in Rethimnon. She took a deep breath and went back outside. Jason was piloting the boat with swift accuracy toward the coastline near Paleloni, where a small compound of houses was on a dead end road, with a private beach. Jason ignored her, downshifted the boat motor and got ready to drop the anchor near the point. He was all business, completely focused on the task at hand. Nicky shivered in the breeze, and Bourne noticed.

"Is that all you have to wear?" he asked, nodding toward the breezy top. His eyes were inscrutable, his face expressionless. Whatever had caused him to break training like that, he had it under control again. Nicky mentally gave thanks to God, replied, "Yes. My other clothes are in Rethimnon."

"I'll leave a sweater," he said brusquely, brushing past her to drop anchor. He turned around and checked his watch. "I'll be gone for an hour." He entered the cabin, emerged in a scant number of minutes in scuba gear and didn't say a word to her, just dropped over the side of the boat.

Jason swam swiftly around the point, sticking close to the reefs. The target snorkeled every afternoon. The drug he had planted in the target's lunch would be in full circulation through his system now, it only required one quick stab. He hunkered down in the shadows of the reef to wait, the rebreather keeping his presence virtually undetectable. _It never pays to be predictable_, Jason thought to himself as the target slowly swam into view and he flipped the hypodermic open. The needle gauge was calibrated perfectly to the scorpion fish. The waves were increasing, the tide pushing the target against the reef so that he had to push off with his feet every now and again. Perfect. He had the opportunity, took it. A brief flash of red and a yelp of pain that was inaudible in the water, and the target swam back toward home, never spotting Jason in the shadows. He just didn't know it was for the last time. Jason flicked his feet and swam off.


	3. Chapter 3

-Off the coast of Crete, Greece-

Nicky rubbed her arms, checked her watch again. So far there was no suspicious activity from the shore or other passing boats. Fifteen minutes to go. She put on Bourne's sweater, tried to ignore the scents that bombarded her nose. She could smell sweat and a hint of cologne or aftershave. It felt intimate and wrong on multiple levels. She decided she'd rather be cold and shucked it back onto the bench in the cabin. _Screw you and your head games, Bourne. _She had put together some food, partly for cover and partly because she realized she was hungry. She nibbled at some cheese and grapes, drank some wine. Tick tock. It was one thing to wait for the signal of a mission completion in the office, where she could busy herself with other tasks. It was quite another to wait on site, knowing that your asset was even now killing someone less than half a mile away.

She didn't hear him when he surfaced. Even the slight change in the water lapping on the teak swim platform wasn't enough to notice. He was very, very quiet, so Nicky got a shock when she came out of the cabin and there he was, stripping out of the neoprene wetsuit without any regard for her presence. She turned around quickly, not before she got a view of his broad back, some scars dotting it, the benefits of his physical regime obvious. "There's food," she called behind her, unsurprised when he walked past buck naked to get his clothes. She didn't ask about the target, didn't need to. It was done.

"Where do we go from here?" she asked, suddenly nervous as he finally focused on her. His eyes were dark, a perfect match for his wet hair, the light tee a foil for his tanned skin. She knew this was the most dangerous time for her. His adrenaline was high, the endorphin rush from the kill would be there, and the cortisol from the stress made him a dangerous and hormonal mix. "Bourne?" she asked again, wary of the look he was giving her. "Stop looking at me like I'm something to eat."

He was advancing on her, and Nicky had seconds to act or find herself flat on her back. "You fuck me, and I'm gone. You want another Hernandez?" Nicky had read the file, knew Jason had hated the previous handler. "Conklin won't tolerate it, and we both know who would go."

Jason stopped, the thinking portion of his brain reengaging. Nicky gave him a plate of food to give his hands something to do, donned the sweater he had left as a peace offering. "I'm going to head us toward Rethimnon," and she exited the cabin swiftly while she was allowed to do so. She breathed in, sucking in the smell of the man who would have just raped her without even thinking about it. She refused to think about the fact that it wouldn't have been rape if she wanted him to, simply wouldn't allow it. She couldn't afford to think like that. _Jesus_. The scent of Jason Bourne teased her endlessly as she turned the boat toward safe harbor. The sooner she got out of this situation, the better.

-Brussels, Belgium-

Nicky flinched, the noise from the bar next door exacerbating her tension headache. She was in a temporary office, coordinating a very tricky operation. Of course, it had to be Bourne. She had tried to subtly suggest the Professor or Mannheim, but Conklin knew who he wanted where, and for this job he wanted Jason Bourne. Nicky rubbed the bridge of her nose, trying hard to forget the only other time she had worked on location with Bourne four months prior. That had not ended as well as she preferred. She had moved directly to an on-location assignment with Mannheim, whose suave charm was much easier to defuse. It had been almost fun working with him, if working on an operation was ever fun. Jason was still cold and dispassionate whenever they had to interact, but there were…_flashes _underneath the surface that roiled her subconsciously and made her extremely wary of him. She thought belatedly that she was switching over to mode two of fear with him, a very bad sign indeed. This was a man who could hurt her very, very badly—and it wasn't dying she was worried about.

"I need an Excedrin," she complained to herself, then whirled around when Jason said, "Then take some." He was propped up against the doorframe, his body posture completely relaxed but she knew better. He had only just arrived.

"Jesus, Bourne, do you have to do that every single time?" Nicky knew it had become a game to him, how easily he could sneak up on her unaware. A flash of humor zipped across his face and she knew he enjoyed it, he enjoyed keeping her on edge. _Damn, damn, damn_. She deliberately ignored him and rummaged through the desk drawer for the pills, swallowed them without any water.

Jason reached over her shoulder and clicked on the computer screen. This too she knew was deliberate, the infiltration of her personal space. "Did you get the cars in place?" Fortunately his voice was all business, so she wasn't worried about his behavior. If anything, discovering how he could rattle her physically had calmed him down. His psych evaluations were better than ever, which Conklin took as a sign that he had hired the right person. All of the assets were doing well with Nicky as their handler, which made him well able to take the heat John Parsons had thrown his way. The girl was a natural; she would go far.

"Yes. One of the cars will break down near the Square Marie-Louise." She didn't ask how he would control who was in what car, or what he would do when it broke down. The less detail she had about the actual event, the better.

"What about the traffic signals?" Jason was already clicking through the sequences, checking them again for errors.

"I've got the timing down to milliseconds. As long as your watch is synchronized to the program, you will be right in lockstep with them."

"The computer will be synchronized to my watch," Jason said, briefly meeting her eyes. Nicky nodded, the quick acquiescence easier. Timekeeping was something Bourne was particular about, and it didn't matter from her end.

He deliberately grazed her shoulder as he withdrew his hand. It was far easier to play with her here in the temporary office, without hardwired cameras that fed back to Langley. It was a habit of his to find out his handler's weaknesses, just another survival mechanism. How fascinating to actually _be_ the weakness for one of them. He had never bothered to analyze his own response to that, keeping his emotions packed up and irrelevant where they belonged. It was enough for him to know hers and to use it to tease her. Every mission he would find some way to subtly needle her. He had discovered all of her tells, all the things she hid so well. Once he broke through her wall, she couldn't keep him out. He couldn't remember the last time he had found anything entertaining. Of course she knew that is what it was, probably had written it up in her reports. He mused that he needed to check on that, made a mental note to break into his own file so he could see what prim and cool Nicolette Parsons had to say about him.

Jason twirled Nicky around in her chair, assessed her physically for the first time. She looked tired, the headache causing one of her pupils to be dilated slightly larger than the other. "That's no ordinary headache, butterfly. You need some migraine meds." He turned and sorted through the med cabinet without permission, grabbed a pill. "Take this. It will clear it up faster than anything else."

Nicky looked at the tablet in his hand, glanced up at his face. "You would know," she said sarcastically, determined not to let him have the upper hand.

"Yes, I would. Take it." He watched her swallow it, nodded. ""All hell is going to break loose when this is over. What is your exit plan?" "

"I've already started shredding. The hard drive will be wiped as soon as the sequence runs for the lights. Then I finish wiping the office and get out."

"Screw that. Wipe the office first, and touch nothing without gloves." Jason's tone was serious, his touch light as he opened her right eye to examine her pupil again. "Good, that is already starting to circulate."

"What? That's not possible for eletriptan! What the hell did you just give me, Bourne?" Nicky was outraged, at him for pulling the switch and herself for letting her tiredness and headache get the best of her. What an absolutely crappy, crappy day this was turning out to be, and she had planned it to be so much better than this.

"Something very illegal. Shut up Parsons, you can tell it's already working. Now, I'm going to meet you at the hotel." He quickly pulled all the meds, put them into a bag. "Next time, don't bring so many." With that he was gone, the door closed before Nicky could even yell at him for stealing program medications. She didn't care at that point, leaned out the window and cursed at him in French as he walked away, "Vas te faire encule Jean! Vous n'étiez pas un bon dans le lit de toute façon!" She enjoyed the chuckles from the few bar patrons who were outside smoking, slumped and closed the window to resume the wipe down. She hated it when he was right. Damn him.

Jason was very busy. The light sequence was starting, and he had twenty seconds to finish setting the charge so it would go off exactly when he needed it to do so. This kind of pressure put him into an alternate universe, where he was both hyperaware of his surroundings and intently focused on the tasks at hand. The security detail was tight and well-trained, so it was going to take multiple, concurrent diversions to give him the shot he needed. As usual, he didn't give a damn why this person was being killed. He just wanted to go home at the end of it. A part of his brain whispered to him, and he shoved it ruthlessly aside. Time for that later. The charge set, he shimmied down the light pole with practiced ease, the hard hat and power company gear providing all the excuse needed. He shifted the work truck into drive, negotiated traffic until he pulled right in front of the cortege of cars heading for EU headquarters. The charge on the power pole blew, causing the street lights to flicker. He popped on the flashing light, pulled over as the cortege passed by at the start of the square. The power worker clothing was ditched in the bushes, the gear of a fitness nut with a hydration backpack underneath. He jogged swiftly along the poorly lit path, sticking close to the trees and bushes. The traffic signals were operating on his timing now, the second charge going off on the power pole ahead and causing all the street lights to shut off. It was now or never, ten seconds until the back-up systems kicked on. He removed the rifle and scope from their hiding place, tells intact, sight, trigger, pull. The man in the passenger compartment of the broken down car slumped to the side, the security detail went crazy. Jason dove into the lake, disassembling the rifle pieces underwater and storing them in the backpack. The fountain lights were out on one side, and he was out of the water and out of the wet clothes in less than thirty seconds, shrugging into a polo shirt and trousers with an elastic waist. Worn-in Merrells and he hit the road, walking quickly toward his next drop point. The sound of a helicopter in the distance and police sirens was expected. What was not was the security detail racing toward Matongé. They had traced the light sequencing. Shit. Jason flagged a cab.

Nicky had finished shredding the files, was headed out the door when something gave her pause. The bar, it was quieter. That was not right. She peeked out the window—a car across from the bar. Empty. Her mind clicked into overdrive. She set the charge Jason had left, assessed the distance to the building next door. The main door was being broken in—no time. She jumped, pressed the button when she grabbed the fire escape. The heat from the blast sucked her breath away, but it finished the job—the office was clean. She scrambled down the ladder and hit the alley, hoping it had caught whoever was after her. She heard the footsteps and knew she was wrong, began to run.

Despite the late hour, plenty of people were still milling around the district. She now had to worry not only about the people behind her, but the countless propositions and drug transactions taking place all around. She was not dressed like a typical prostitute but being alone made her a target. She had to stop running, it was attracting too much attention. Her pursuers were no longer able to run either, so at least it was a fair obstacle. She needed help, and fast. She was heading for a park, somewhere she could find some cover and stand a chance.

**  
Jason saw the explosion and knew exactly what it meant. "Stop here please," he commanded the taxi driver, throwing the money at him and getting out of the cab. He asked one of the bar patrons who was back outside, "Avez-vous vu ma petite amie? J'ai besoin de lui parler." The guy laughed and pointed toward an alley, and he took off. The security detail car was sitting there empty, she was in big trouble. He broke into a run. Where would she go? She'd try to find people first, then discover it was not going to work well in this neighborhood. Nearest place with cover was the Botanique Kruidtuin. He shoved aside the embrace of a prostitute and cut up the Linnestraat, spotting the security team but not Nicky. They were clearing the crowds, and the guns were coming out. He cut over to Rue Verde, trusting Nicky could manage to keep herself alive for a few more minutes. The training said, if they were going to capture her, take her out himself. The mission could not be compromised. He wasn't going to do that. He didn't stop to ask why, already knew exactly how that security detail was going down. The analytical side of his brain said it wasn't necessary, he was going to retrieve her. If she violated her own training, however, all bets were off.

Nicky resisted the strong temptation to cut into the Best Western, to try to find cover among all the people, to feel safer. She overrode her own instinct for self-preservation instead, pressing on toward the green parks and allowing the weight of the Ruger in her waistband to reassure her that she was hardly defenseless. Unlike most field agents, Nicky had taken seriously the weapons training, and her marksmanship was top notch due to frequent practice. Castel had slyly complimented her on it once, letting her know he had watched her practice at the range. She expected that all of the assets spied on her at some time or another, so she was careful to not do anything that would cause them to wonder about her loyalty to the program. Her breath was choppy, her side hurt from the sprint she put on in the park. Scraping her ribcage on the iron fence climbing over the gate had not helped either. Clearly she was not the only one who didn't let the locked gates restrict her park access—she heard amorous noises from the bushes, pushed deeper into the trees and found a place that would do for an ambush point with decent cover. She hunkered down, Ruger in hand, and practiced her best breathing techniques to get quieter and wait.

Jason entered the park from a different spot, vaulting the fence and circling back. He spotted Nicky, and three of the EU's finest making their way toward her. She would have a clear shot of one and not the other two. He ran up from behind, pulling the silenced Glock just as she shot the first one. The retort was loud, the other agents fired at her and missed her but unbeknownst to them, one of them grazed Jason in the arm as he took him down with two shots to the chest. Nicky had fired again, the second report ensuring that all amorous parties in the park were clearing out with haste. She missed, but Jason didn't. The third dropped like a rock, shot between the eyes. "Damn. Let's go." Jason pulled her up and registered her lack of surprise. Nicky was a good shot but she wasn't stupid—she hadn't dropped the second one and she had known he was there in that split second. "Park the weapons, we're just another couple fleeing the scene," he hissed, pulling her into a run. He vaulted back over the closest fenceline, helped her down and tucked his arm down next to hers, entwining their fingers as the police officers approached. "We hoorden schoten van het pad - wilde wat privacy." Jason pointed toward the park, and Nicky nodded and tucked her head into his shoulder. Jason's accent was broad and low-class, and the officers continued on at a rapid clip toward the gates.

"We're picking up my drop and then we're hitting the road." Nicky felt wetness on her arm, tried to pull her hand away. "Leave it. I got clipped. We'll deal with it later." He wordlessly picked up his drop, moved her off in the direction of a 24 hour car park.

"Jason, thank you," Nicky said, shaking slightly as the adrenaline started to wind down.

"For what? You handled it yourself, very well. Conklin will be pleased."

"I don't give a rat's ass what Conklin thinks. He ruined my fucking birthday." Nicky recalled the plans she had for the evening, including some nice wine and a very indulgent cake. It had been the best she could come up with given that she had to work, and now even that was totally fucked up. She took two deep breaths. _I will not cry about my birthday_. _OF ALL THINGS TODAY, this is NOT worth crying about!_

He squeezed her hand. It was the first really human gesture she had ever seen Jason Bourne give. "Had something special planned?"

"Not really. But damn it, I had a beautiful torte I was going to eat. And a really expensive bottle of wine. And I just blew both of them to hell."

Jason laughed. "Are you kidding me? You were just shot at and almost died, and all you can think about is your fucking birthday cake?"

Nicky pulled him to a stop, or tried to. They were almost to his car, but she was mad. "Look, I realize that everything and anything about my life is for public consumption to you and any other person associated with work, but goddamnit my birthday is MY DAY and I wanted CAKE and WINE. So somewhere, somehow along the road, you are going to stop at a patisserie and a wine shop, and I WILL make lemonade out of lemons. Do you copy me?"

Jason tossed his bags in the car and grabbed her, said "I copy, Parsons," and kissed her long and hard. His tongue slid into her mouth at the first available opportunity, and he enjoyed, oh how he enjoyed her surrender and the small moans she started to make. He pulled her closer, stopped to raise his head and meet her eyes softened with lust. "I scratch your itch, you scratch mine. You copy?"

There was no doubt in Nicky's mind that this would end badly. But she just didn't care. "I copy," she said breathlessly.

"Good. Let's go buy you a cake and wine."


	4. Chapter 4

Note: I had intended to include another section in this chapter but did not have time to finish it today and didn't want to leave you hanging. I don't own the characters, etc...enjoy!

-Arras, France-

Once they had gotten on the road Jason had turned silent again. Nicky expected nothing less, kept her own thoughts to herself. She had changed her mind about the cake. Chocolate. Lots of chocolate. Jason had made a call, his French changing to accommodate the region, the Picard dialect strong.

"What if they don't leave the cake out?" Nicky asked.

"Then you make do with whatever cake we can find," Jason replied, glancing at her. "I didn't promise a _good_ cake."

"Fair enough," Nicky replied loftily, looking at him boldly. "I didn't promise a _good_ fuck."

Jason took a long look at her, long enough to make her worry about the car going off the road. "Yeah, you did. And don't worry, I'll give you one, too."

She couldn't help the blush, but wouldn't give him the satisfaction of showing it. He knew, though. He parked the car outside of a wine shop, turned to her expectantly.

"Are you going to have any?" He shook his head.

"One glass?" Nicky felt nervous, knew it showed and didn't care. His expression softened. "One glass."

"Red or white?"

"Doesn't matter."

She got out of the car, went in quietly to the shop and refocused herself. _Task at hand_. Six minutes and seventy euro later, she had a relatively old bottle of Margaux and two glasses. "Might as well do it right," she said as she buckled back in.

"Indeed."

The cake was outside the patisserie, the box wrapped in a silver bow that gleamed faintly in the moonlight. _Well, that's that then_. Nicky had had an hour and a half to contemplate all the reasons this was more than a bargain with the devil. This was potentially career destroying. It was a huge, huge mistake. Somehow she had let herself be led on a merry dance, repeatedly taking the bait that Jason Bourne offered her, unable to resist sparking off him like a match to sandpaper. She consciously willed her fingers not to play with the ribbon. He had known. For four months, he'd known he was going to sleep with her. Everything had been a prelude, a calculated chase. She felt like a butterfly caught in a web, only she had chosen it herself. She had underestimated the training the assets had. Every one of them could probably write dissertations on psychology, how to manipulate people and situations. Jason parked in front of a hotel, told her to wait ten minutes. She couldn't have said for her life what she thought about while he was gone. If by some freak circumstance they had been followed all the way from Brussels, she would have been shot.

"Let's go." Jason opened the back door, grabbed the bags and left Nicky to bring her cake and wine. The room was clean, the furnishings plush. It was the type of boutique hotel that often sprang up in the art districts of small European towns, catering to businessmen with affluent tastes and wealthy travelers. Jason was setting up the room as he liked it, various tells and simple strategies to alert them to any possible intruders.

"Were we followed from Belgium?" Nicky asked, taking in the elaborate precautions.

"No." The answer was succinct, but final. There would be no delays in the payment for their 'bargain'. Jason opened the wine for her, poured two glasses and handed her one. Nicky turned to the cake box, unwrapped it.

"Chocolate ganache. There is a God, and He must love us to give us chocolate." Nicky kicked her shoes off and grabbed a fork, tasted the first mouthful. "This is really good." She eyed Jason, who was watching her. "Try a bite." She picked up another bite, held it up for him. "Come on, Bourne, it's my birthday. Have a bite of my birthday cake, please."

Jason leaned over, let her put the cake in his mouth, closed it around the fork. Nicky's blood sizzled as their eyes met, took a swallow of the wine. "That's good too."

Jason took a sip, set his glass and hers aside. "I know it is, Nicky." There was no hint of a question in his voice, absolutely no hesitation in the way his hands moved surely at her waist, unbuttoning her trousers and sliding them down to her hips, caressing her gently as his mouth moved on her throat.

"Jason…what if someone finds out…about this," Nicky's breath was starting to hitch, his hands causing her body to warm rapidly.

"They won't, unless you tell them," Jason said, licking a tiny freckle on her shoulder, pushing her shirt down to get more access to her creamy skin. The buttons were in the way, so he ripped them off, revealing the scalloped lace bra underneath as he pushed the shirt off her shoulders. Nicky gasped as his head ducked down to sample more, biting just a bit and reveling in the way her fingers were starting to dig in, knead his shoulders. "And you won't want to do that, will you Nicky?" He came back up, gave her a wet kiss, laced with promise. "Because then it won't happen again, and you're going to want it to. And so am I."

"Arrogant, aren't you?" she retorted weakly, finding the warm, hard, naked chest he suddenly pressed against her to be extremely distracting, her mind filling with lustful thoughts about what she wanted to do to it. Jason met her eyes, winding his fingers in her hair so he had her attention. "Truthful." His eyes were open, honest at least in his lust, and Nicky's widened in return before she kissed him with everything she had. He took it and turned it back on her, the rest of their clothes hitting the floor and their bodies hitting the bed. She wasn't ready for him, couldn't have ever been ready for what it was like to have sex with Jason Bourne. He was as focused on her as he was on any mission, no detail or response too small to escape his attention. She realized it halfway through, decided to turn the tables on him and lavished as much attention as she could on him, his body, before he had enough and flipped her back, done with the foreplay. Before they were done, they were both sweaty, Nicky's throaty cries culminating in his name, just like he knew she would. He kissed her neck, looked at her and said, "Happy Birthday, Nicky."

"Jesus, Bourne, you've ruined me." They were sprawled upside down on the bed, Jason leaning on one arm while she was enjoying her cake on her tummy. Nicky took another bite of cake, her stomach protesting the amount of sugar and fat that she had consumed in the last ten minutes, followed by healthy doses of the Margaux.

"That's the idea," Jason said, meeting her look with one of his own. He had taken another sip of his wine, allowed her to give him a few bites of cake.

"I was talking about the cake," Nicky replied cockily, taking another bite just to goad him. She had realized something. Clearly she got under his skin too, or he would never have pursued her. Sex was easy; it was the pursuit of a worthwhile target that made it good for him. She had no intention of ever being an easy target.

"Is that so?" Jason crawled across the bed with speed, pushed the plate to the floor and grabbed Nicky before she could get off the bed, easily snagging her ankle and yanking her back. "You're a slow learner, Nicolette Parsons."

"No, I'm a very fast one," she retorted as they tumbled around on the bed, each trying to out-punish the other for their smart ass behavior. She gladly succumbed again to his skillful hands, the smell of sex and sweat adding its own perfume as they performed their own kind of mating dance.

"So what now?" Nicky asked, rebuttoning her blouse after sewing as many of the buttons back on as she could find with her minuscule sewing kit. The sunlight was flitting through the drapes, still early morning but later than either of them usually woke. The opening of the blouse was now lower, but she had one of Jason's t-shirts on underneath so it was not so very bad. At least they were both clean, or mostly so, after a shared shower this morning. The sleep they did get had done him a world of good, while she still felt like she needed another three hours. Her eyes were hesitant as she met Jason's. As usual his were shielded, but his voice was pragmatic. "We go back to Paris and resume our regularly scheduled activities."

"Right." Nicky buttoned the trousers, started looking for her other shoe. She didn't know what the new normal was going to be, how this would color all her interactions with Jason at work. She didn't even want to think about seeing Conklin or her next psych evaluation.

"Here." Jason knelt down, put it on her foot. He held onto her ankle, a simple but effective way to make her look at him. "I know where you live. I know where you jog, your favorite café, which waiter you find vaguely cute, how you like your coffee. I've added sex with you to my regularly scheduled activities, Nicky. Be prepared." She nodded, understood what he was saying. There was no one time that would work, no set location. Every time would be different, and he expected her to trust him. Her danger meter had flickered back to life, reminding her that he never did anything without careful planning. If he ever decided she was a problem, or not worth it, that would be it, and she'd never even know it.

"But do you know how I like my tea?" she asked archly, raising an eyebrow.

"That's it," he growled, knocking her back onto the floor. "I hope you don't have any appointments this morning."

This time Nicky had to give up on the blouse for good. It was worth the sacrifice.


	5. Chapter 5

-Paris, France-

Nicky frowned at the screen, the numbers blurring. Right now she was running three concurrent operations and the juggling was getting old. Two of the three operations were acquisitions, the third was not. She had Mannheim in Poland, Castel in Turkey, and the Professor in Spain. Jason was back from Dublin, due in this afternoon for his report. The phone rang and she picked it up. Langley. "Parsons."

"Parsons. Give me the rundown on Madrid, then the update on Lodz, and finally Istanbul." Conklin's voice was hoarse, she imagined probably from a cold. Danny Zorn had done a fly-by a few days ago, said Conklin would have come himself but was home in bed. She wondered if she was coming down with something herself as she scrambled to get files or check details during Conklin's inquisition. She was normally more organized before a brief, but had discovered that three operations was her maximum, and told Conklin so in no uncertain terms.

"Sir, I cannot do three simultaneous operations again."

"What specifically is bothering you, Parsons?" His voice had an edge to it, which made Nicky consider her answer carefully.

"The inefficiencies of all the concurrent processes are very large. I don't want to miss any details."

Conklin paused and coughed. His mood was foul and having his best handler talking back to him was a bit much. "Listen here, Parsons, if the heat is too much for you, you can haul your ass back here to Langley and I'll find a phone for you to answer in the basement. Otherwise, you rework your processes to accommodate the workload. You copy?"

"Yes sir." Nicky eyed the screen, fixed a column that was not right. "Anything else?" She was pissed but knew it would do no good to press the point. Her tank was almost on empty and she knew it.

Conklin sighed. He knew it was unreasonable to expect 120% for weeks running. "Take next weekend off, Parsons." He clicked off, reached for the cough drops. Damn, his chest hurt.

The rest of the morning sped by in a haze of figures, phone calls, texts, and research. Her head pounded from switching between four different languages constantly. She massaged her neck, checked the clock. She was past due for some lunch, a fact that her stomach had not hesitated to remind her of for the past hour. She opened a drawer where she kept some emergency snacks—nothing. Grocery shopping had become too low on the priority list lately. However, if she went to get lunch, she would be late for Jason's appointment. That would get her hand smacked by Conklin. Jason would be pissed if she hadn't eaten anything all day. She rubbed her temples. She couldn't ask him to bring her something, that would raise all kinds of flags. _Damn._ She dug through her purse, found salvation in the form of an ancient piece of chewing gum. Better than nothing. She took Excedrin too, popped on the kettle for tea. At least her belly would not be empty.

It was just that kind of day. Nicky poured the hot water, clicked the electric kettle back on its base, and was swishing the tea bag in her teacup as she turned around and nearly dropped the cup, Jason standing in the doorframe. "Could you QUIT DOING THAT, please?" Her tone was irritated, more so because Danny had told her that the ops people at Langley were now betting on how many times Jason Bourne would manage to sneak up on her in the office. So far he was winning the pool handily, he'd said—he bet she'd never catch him. "Bastard," she muttered to herself, brushing past Jason distractedly while blowing on the tea. She headed for her usual spot, found the paperwork and file not there as usual. She set her tea cup down, met Jason's eyes briefly and said, "Sorry, be right back," then went back out to find it on top of the other files and notepads she was using for the three missions. She was back in less than thirty seconds, but she realized that she was going to hear about that, later—and not from Langley. His posture and expression were the same as always, but she was beginning to recognize one of his tells, a slight change in the angle of his head, the chin coming up a bit more.

"Ok, how are the new meds working out?" She zipped through the questions in her usual cool manner, jotted down the notes and frowned slightly. She would have to check that later. She looked up and Jason was looking at her intently. _Fuck_. Now she would get a call from Conklin AND a visit from Jason.

"That's it for today." She stood up, clearly signaling that Jason should leave. He stood up silently and left the office. If he thought at all about staying or asking her what the hell that was about, he gave no indication of it. She shivered inadvertently. It was that kind of coldness that they were all capable of at times that reminded her that this was no ordinary job, and he was no ordinary man. The trouble was that she knew she _would_ be asked about it, and it would be when the safety net of their mutual employer was not present. THAT was scary.

She picked up the now cold tea and dumped it, turned back to the research and prepared to send a lot of encrypted files to the Professor. Then she could focus on Polish and Mannheim. Castel she texted, "Expect nothing further today." He'd find plenty to do with the afternoon off...more likely _someone_ to do. He loved to share the details at his office visits, but Nicky found it easy to ignore him. All of them liked to taunt her somehow. If she had to peg one of them as most likely to turn violent, it would be Castel—but that was not a valid strategy. All of them could snap, even Jason. She shook her head, _inefficient, Parsons! _She didn't have the bandwidth for a waste of time and energy. She turned back to the map of Lodz, correlating club concerts and small bands. This was the last pattern she had to find today. Once she had it, she could call Mannheim and go home.

Three and a half hours later, she finally had it and was able to convey the information in a two minute phone call to Mannheim. He was off in his own headspace, his responses perfunctory and clinical. That meant he was close to being done. She made a mental note to herself: expect a code in within 24 hours. It was close to 5 pm, long past due for her to get some food into her system and go home. Her headache was pounding, the herbal teas and Excedrin not having helped at all. She was headed toward Le Petit Château d'Eau, when she stopped herself. She had no doubt that Jason Bourne was going to take up the issue of her frown and hesitation during his interview, and he wasn't going to wait to do so. She was too tired, her head hurt too much to deal with Jason, intent on getting his answers. _FML. _She had two very unpleasant options—go home and face her medicine, or attempt to get one night, a few hours of peace and deal with the fall out tomorrow. She probably made the wrong decision, but she turned and walked in exactly the opposite direction. She headed for the Louvre instead.

She had never eaten at Macéo, didn't care. She ordered a soup and salad, a glass of wine, and a small interior table. The soup was hot and hearty, the salad fresh, and the wine was restoring. Her headache was still there but had loosened its talons, and she felt better for having eaten. She smiled and thanked the waiter, paid her bill and left. She could have gone home, but she didn't feel like it. It was Wednesday, and she needed peace. She bought a ticket for the Louvre and went in. There were still a decent number of people mingling around, mostly tourists, but the school kids and families had left. She checked her watch—7:30 pm. By now Jason would be looking for her. Let him soak up some culture by osmosis, then. She wandered through the gallery devoted to the French Revolution, but was not particularly interested in the ornamented furniture and urns; went upstairs to the historical events gallery. She found herself studying Géricault's "Raft of the Medusa". Something about the darkness in the painting spoke to her. She felt like the man in the red cloak, washed out, devoid of hope or a spark of survival instinct. What the hell was she doing? She had been in this job for a year now, and the past few weeks had shown her for the first time exactly how grueling it was. She was tired of being watched, poked at by lethal men, keeping her mind on and constantly assessing them as well as her own behavior. Worse, her sizzling hot sex life with one of them kept her constantly on edge, because she knew it could never be more, and her heart was starting to demand it, asking to come up for air and a little light.

"Nicky." He had just appeared at her side, took her elbow.

"What do you want, Jason?" Nicky turned her head to look at him, the tiredness and defeat visible on her face. Jason changed his approach in an instant, reshuffling the sequence of events he had laid out before she deviated from her pattern. He had only been intent on his answer, but this Nicky spoke to that other, hidden side of himself, the one he consciously ignored but which sometimes drove his decisions against his will.

"You're coming home with me." Even he was surprised by the words that came out of his mouth, but instinct didn't let him show it. A split second ago he was taking her back to her own apartment, but she needed a whiteout from the agency. The only place ready to offer that was his apartment—not the one he stayed in most of the time to please the agency, but the one he kept for himself. He guided her out of the museum, started walking. She didn't say anything, but her body language said it all. Used up, tired, probably getting sick, and thinking of quitting. He wasn't going to let that happen to her or them. He didn't even consciously realize that he had referred to their sex as more than that, his more analytical side insisting on privacy at all costs. He pulled the scarf he knew she had in her bag, blindfolded her. He didn't bother to apologize, knew it wasn't necessary. The streets in this neighborhood were deserted, anyway. More OCD behavior imposed by years of training…if he had stopped to think about it right then, it would have pissed him off. He brought her upstairs, unlocked the door and led her in, removing the blindfold at last after he locked the door.

Nicky blinked a few times, turned around to take it in. It was a small apartment, older building, the kind of place you'd find anywhere in Paris. It was decorated with an odd mish-mash of furniture and flea market buys, art posters in frames on the wall and a curiously modern sculpture on the dining room table. "Nice," she said, facing him with her arms folded around herself. "Now, what can I do for you? Because it's been a long day," she broke off, shrugged. "Look, I don't care anymore. Do what you have to do, Jason."

Jason just looked at her and said nothing. Nicky felt horrible, exposed, vulnerable. How dare he just stand there and say nothing? Her cheeks flushed involuntarily and her fingers clenched on her arms; she was getting mad. He was still looking at her, no expectation in his expression, practically a statue. She shut up again and watched him just like he was watching her. _Whatever the hell I think I know about him, I don't know anything at all_, she thought with irritation. Her head ached and she just wanted to go to sleep, and instead she was engaged in a juvenile game of stare-down with Jason Bourne. Another minute ticked by and she finally caved, walked over to poke him in the chest with her finger. "Fuck you Jason. I could have just gone home, you didn't have to come looking for me. You're all the same, you all think you should know everything, all the time. Well, you're wrong. I noticed something, a possible pattern. I'm going to look into it and deal with Langley about it. I am NOT going to tell you what it is, because it might not be anything. And I don't care if you don't like that, that is my job. And, fuck you for bringing me here because I know this is not your official apartment."

She tried to turn away, blinking back the tears in her eyes. This was what Jason had waited patiently for. She had to let it out, what was eating at her. He knew even if she wouldn't admit it that she could have chosen to get a flight to Virginia, and that would have been it. He stopped her and turned her back, held her in his arms and kissed her hair.

"I thought you were going to kill me," she whispered.

"Silly woman," Jason raised her head, kissed her gently. "It wouldn't be nearly as much fun sneaking up on someone else."

Nicky wasn't going to think about the multiple layers of meaning she could choose to assign to that. For now, it was enough that he knew what she needed. She stroked the muscles in his back a couple of times, leaning into his embrace and just taking the peace she needed. Of all people, he was the source of peace for her. _I am totally fucking crazy_, she thought, absentmindedly kissed his neck. The cologne he wore was now one of her favorite scents, a clean and subtle fragrance with a husky warmth that she would irrevocably assign to him.

"Feeling better?" he asked in her ear, the warmth of his breath sending tendrils of heat through her abdomen.

"Yeah," she looked up at him, knew he was patiently waiting for more. "Let's go to bed."

More could wait for tomorrow.


	6. Chapter 6

-A couple of things-first, back in work so won't be doing 2 chapters per day. Second, heading into bumpier territory next chapter, winding up to the movies...should also see some more action scenes. And mandatory disclaimer-I don't own the characters, etc. Enjoy-

She woke up, startled, in the middle of the night. Jason was out of bed before she was even fully conscious. "I think it's okay," Nicky said. "I just…woke up." Her heart was pounding from the dream she'd been having. "It was just a dream."

Jason checked everything anyway, slipped back into bed and fluffed the pillow, put his hand under his head. "What's really bothering you, Nicky?" He caressed her, a calculated move to reassure her. She could see half of his face, the other half in shadows. It felt like the perfect metaphor for her life, his life.

"Jason, I can't tell you. It's part of my job, not yours. You know what that means."

Jason nodded, but she could tell it wasn't something he was going to let drop. She tried again. "What would you have done today, if I hadn't been your lover?"

Jason didn't even have to think about it. "I would have broken into the office and read the file, tapped your phone, and possibly have interrogated you in your apartment if neither of the above yielded a satisfactory answer."

Nicky gave him a little ghost of a smile. "So were you waiting in my apartment?"

"No. I followed you." Nicky had never seen hints of so many different emotions flicker across his face, couldn't be sure because of the dim light. "You're too tired, Nicky. You need a break."

"I know it. Conklin gave me next weekend off." She paused, wishing she could ask him to go somewhere with her. She didn't know whether he would be able to go or not, but she hadn't gotten any new assignments for him yet. She didn't consider whether he would want to go.

"It's the new meds, isn't it?" Jason was never going to be someone who let something go without answers, he was just a tad more patient with her than he would be with someone else. He knew if he kept circling back, he'd get what he needed out of her. Nicky was good at controlling her expressions but she wasn't that good, and certainly not when it was 1 AM and she was run ragged.

"I can't tell you, Jason. Damn it, stop poking at me. You're like a dog with a bone...I'm sick of all of you poking at me endlessly…it's just sick! Can't you just let me do my job and leave it?"

"No." His voice was soft and hard at the same time. Nicky shook her head, annoyed again. "You really piss me off Jason Bourne." He had crept closer, pulled her tight against him.

"No I don't." His voice was confident now. "You expect me to annoy you. You'd think something was wrong if I didn't. Admit it. I've read your notes."

"Jason! Did you actually break into the office?"

He ignored her and continued, "Of course, I would disagree with your assessment of arrogance. Maybe that is true of me in bed, but when it comes to work I am the least arrogant person around. I do my job."

"When did you do that? How could you do that if you were following me?" Nicky was trying to figure out how he could have possibly managed it, the fact that he'd actually done it not really registering with her conscience. She supposed that she ought to be concerned for work, but frankly they ought to know that any one of the assets could break into the office at any time and access any files they wanted. She suspected they did it on purpose lest it appear a challenge to them.

"I went back as soon as you'd ordered your dinner and picked you up again when you were done." He was massaging between her neck and shoulder now in the way he knew she liked.

"What about my phone?" she demanded. Jason kissed her, she was no fool.

"Jason, the phone?" Nicky was insistent.

"Now who is being like a dog with a bone?" He whispered that in her ear, his tongue doing very naughty things to her earlobe.

"That is not going to work with me…okay it is going to work, but I am going over that phone tomorrow with a fine tooth comb and if I find so much as a HINT of a bug I am reporting you to Langley for retraining," she threatened, the bluster in her tone weakened considerably under his onslaught.

"You're a bad liar, Nicky," Jason said, cradling her head and kissing her again.

"I'm a very good liar," she retorted. "Conklin is still clueless, isn't he?" He allowed her to push him onto his back, a subtle hint of a grin creeping onto his face when she climbed on top of him to poke him in the chest to emphasize her point. "Even Danny Zorn and his Flintstone friends are in the dark, and they have a bet running as to how many times it will take for you to surprise me in the office before I catch you at it. I am an _excellent_ liar."

"You'll never be able to lie to me," he said, suddenly serious, pulling her down for a hard kiss. Nicky acknowledged the truth in her eyes. "No, Jason, I'll never be able to lie to you." Her heart sped up suddenly, her eyes got serious even though she wished she could conceal it. "Will you come with me? Next weekend? I don't care where, I just want to…get away from this for a few days." Her hair was longer than it had been when they met first, past her shoulders now, spilling over him as she leaned forward.

Jason mentally disengaged, running through his own schedule and practically wrestling part of his psyche into a box. He closed his eyes briefly, looked at her again. _Damn_. She was trying so hard not to look pathetic, but she was so run-down from the past few weeks that she had lost her usual reserve, her expressions written with more emotions than he'd ever seen before. "I'll pick the place." He told himself to fuck off when the ultralinear, trained, cold part of his brain said, _she's become your weakness_, focused entirely on the way Nicky decided to show him how happy she was. If that was weakness, he'd take it tonight.

Nicky found her stress level decreased markedly when both the Professor and Mannheim coded in with missions completed. She hadn't seen Jason since that night, but the evening had unquestionably done her a world of good. She had thought about what it meant that Jason had recognized the need, but did not want to allow herself to consider all the implications. That she was getting emotionally involved was obvious, but she didn't know how to disentangle herself.

"Minault et Picard," she answered the unsecured line smoothly, prepared to shift the call to Langley's basement minions as soon as possible.

"You need to come home. Your mother is close to a nervous breakdown, and you're needed, now!" her father's tone was brusque and commanding as usual, the expectation being that she would comply automatically. Her instinctive response remained rebellion, and she clenched the phone cord once briefly before she responded automatically, "Je pense que vous avez le mauvais numéro monsieur, bonne journée." She clicked the phone off, then dialed Langley on the secure line. It was a bad sign that she was able to get through to Conklin right away.

"Ah, Parsons. Thought I might be hearing from you." Conklin turned away from his desk, sighed. "Danny's arriving tonight. I want you to get him up to speed tomorrow and then catch a flight home for a two week personal leave."

Nicky was outraged. "With all due respect sir, I'm hardly a child that has to come running just because one of my parents snaps their fingers."

"You're due for that time off anyway. I'm sure it will be nice for you to spend some time with your folks—sounds like your mom is having a rough time, I'm sure you can help with that."

"That is hardly my idea of a relaxing vacation!" Nicky protested, but Conklin cut her off. "You can thank me later. Get your fill of American culture and call in halfway through your leave. We might need you to cut it short."

Nicky cut herself off mentally before she could tell Conklin she'd be requesting a mental health break after two weeks 'home' with her parents. She didn't say anything further, just hung up the phone.

-Wickenburg, Arizona-

"Mom, what are you doing here? You don't need this type of facility, you need a mental health counselor!" Nicky groaned when her mother gave her the patented Meredith Parsons look of outrage.

"I beg your pardon, young lady, but between your father's _obsession_ with that agency and your determination to throw your life away on some godforsaken shores, I most certainly do need it!" Meredith looked quite comfortable in her accommodations at the expensive eating disorder clinic, even if she would have been better off booking herself into a chic spa instead.

"But Mom, you DON'T HAVE an eating disorder! This clinic is for people who have serious problems! I'm surprised they even admitted you, you need a good psychiatrist and some Xanax!" Meredith sniffed and turned away, a perfect imitation of a six year old child pouting.

"It's a good thing your father is not here to hear you talk to me like that, missy. What he'd say I don't know, but it certainly wouldn't be nice!"

Nicky sighed. "No, Mom, whatever Dad says is never 'nice', more like 'cutting' or 'sarcastically patronizing'."

"Why can't you two just get along? I blame him for you running off like that. Do you know it has been three years since you were home for my birthday? Or Christmas? What did I ever do to you Nicky that you would treat me that way?"

Nicky rubbed her forehead. Her headache was coming back, and it wasn't made better by the knowledge that her father would be flying back this evening and she could look forward to the 'treat' of both parents blasting her for her various sins. Between her mother's guilt trips and her father's picking apart of her career decisions, she'd need a psychiatrist herself if she had to deal with them for two whole weeks. _Jesus, what did I do to deserve this?_ she thought to herself, vowing to call Danny Zorn again and BEG him to talk Conklin into calling her back. If necessary she'd even agree to go out on a date with him, she was that desperate.

"Mom, I'm going to leave now and come back after you've had your group therapy session, okay? And please, try to be _honest_ with these people, they are here to help you." She gave her mom a hug and left, heading for a good Mexican place and a large margarita. She shoved aside the thought that she could have been away with Jason right now, hoped he had found the note she'd left in her apartment. She had no good way of contacting him that wasn't monitored by the agency. She had no idea how often he actually checked up on her, didn't really care. Her phone buzzed with a text as she was sipping the margarita. _Looking for a getaway? Book now for budget holidays to Mallorca! Text 06571._

She thought about it briefly, paid for the margarita. Her next stop was a cell phone store, where she purchased a prepaid phone. As soon as it booted up she texted 06571—_I'd like to book a getaway, please._

The phone buzzed back shortly—an incoming file attachment. Nicky's mouth quirked up a bit when she saw the picture—a pair of bare feet in front of the ocean.

_Tease. I'm stuck until I get permission from the boss to leave. Where are you really?_

_I'll tell you when you get your get out of jail free card._

_I can nudge it with a bit of a price—you willing for me to pay the price?_

_Do it and I'll pay the price._ Nicky laughed at that. This would be good, very, very good.

_Ok…but remember later, it was your idea._ She picked up her regular phone, dialed Zorn. After a few minutes of discussion, she extracted a promise of rapid delivery and sat on the phone for ten minutes. Finally Danny got back on the line and said, "Officially you need to come in. See you in 24 hours."

_All right, I've got 24 hours to be back. Where am I headed?_

_Cabo San Lucas._ Nicky smiled and got in the rental car. FINALLY, a vacation!


	7. Chapter 7

-Cabo San Lucas, Baja, Mexico-

Nicky checked in at the hotel, unpacked in her room. She had to admit that Jason had great taste, it was a nice hotel. She had a private balcony with a hot tub overlooking the beach. The hotel was designed so that each room had privacy, the architecture shielding the sun in places so you had a choice of sun or shade.

"Very nice." She didn't know when Jason would turn up, but was betting it would be soon. Time for the return of the white bikini. She was sunning herself on the balcony when a shadow blocked the late afternoon sun.

"Hello Jason." She didn't even open her eyes. "I'm not even going to ask how you got in." She finally cracked her eyes open, saw the smile in his eyes. He was sweaty, his t-shirt soaked and the swimming trunks clinging a bit.

"I recognize that bikini. I never did find out if it was transparent when wet." He advanced with intent.

"Jason…" Nicky was half-laughing, started to scramble backward off the chaise. Of course it was pointless, and he scooped her up and headed for the hot tub, dumped her in without hesitation. He ignored the splash, turned it on, and got in with her. Nicky pushed her half-sodden hair out of her face, came in to plant a kiss on him and pushed him under instead.

"Now we're even," she said, dunking herself before he could manage it, her hair streamlined back from her face.

"Oh no, I hardly think so," Jason said, snaking his arm around her. "We're only getting started."

The transparent nature of her garment rapidly became irrelevant as it joined his wet clothes on the balcony floor. Nicky discovered it was quite exhilarating to get sweaty and clingy_ in_ a hot tub.

After a shower, Nicky dried her hair while Jason checked a few things on his phone and then hers. He came over as she was debating what to wear for the evening.

"Where are we going?"

Jason ignored her question for the time being, flipped her phone to her. "You need to code in here. You'll be getting a call from Zorn in less than five minutes, I guarantee it."

"Why?" Nicky had an inkling of where this was going, and didn't particularly like it.

"Because I'm here on business, and you're about to be." Nicky groaned, but coded in as requested. Sure enough, within three minutes her phone was ringing and she answered.

"Parsons! Why the hell are you in Cabo San Lucas?" Danny's voice was incredulous. He looked around his dingy accommodations, thought maybe something good might come out of this trip after all, thinking about that promised date.

"Because after spending a week with Daddy Knows Best and Psycho Mommy, I needed some margaritas and a beach before I go back on the clock, and this was the quickest option," Nicky retorted. "This is still my time, remember Zorn? I was just doing the SOP to log my location."

"Shit Nicky, we're running an op here! I'm in some dingy motel—where the hell are you?"

Nicky looked around, grinned at Jason. "You don't want to know."

"Damn it, you and your fucking silver spoon. Forget it. Bourne is on assignment and I've got one more logistics drop to make, then I'm waiting. What about that date?"

Jason raised an eyebrow, Nicky mouthed "_the price, remember?_" and his expression turned skeptical. "No."

Nicky hemmed into the phone, "Good grief Danny, that is not going to fly and you know it. It will have to wait until you're back in Paris."

Zorn sighed miserably. "At least tell me you're not going to hook up with some built loser for meaningless sex." Jason was highly amused now, slipped his hand inside her panties to caress her hip. She scowled at him but it did absolutely nothing.

"If I did it would be none of your business," Nicky's ice queen tone was perfect, and she continued, "So where do I need to steer clear of? Because I'm not cutting short my ONLY vacation in two years just because you didn't have enough sense to tell me you were on location when I talked to you yesterday."

"I don't know exactly where. Just hang on, I'll buzz him and he can tell you himself." He knew it was cruel to put her on the clock but there was something about Bourne that annoyed him, and he knew Bourne annoyed Nicky as well. If she wouldn't honor that date today then she could pay the price.

"Fuck off, Zorn! I'm off the clock!"

"Not anymore. He's gonna call you. He hates my guts anyway." Danny hung up, satisfied with his petty revenge.

"He's right about that," Jason said, meeting Nicky's eyes as his phone buzzed. "Oh look, my handler is in town."

"Damn it, Jason, you planned this!" Nicky pushed him in the arm, but he was unmovable.

"Yep." He squeezed her hip, withdrew his hand from her panties. "Get dressed, buttercup. We've got a club to scout." He left the room and dialed her number, waited for her to pick up. She stuck her tongue out at his departing back, went through the motions of the brief phone conversation and jotted down the club name. She turned her attention back to the phone call, her tone professional. "Is that all?"

"Wear something sexy. You're going to attract some attention for me." Click. She turned around and saw her clothes already laid out. Sometimes she hated how efficient he was.

*-*  
The nightclub was packed with people, the cool breeze blowing in off the beach making it far more tolerable than it would have been otherwise. The club had pivoting doors that were open to catch as much breeze as possible, tables and bars scattered around the edges of the vast dance floor where a DJ was mixing Mexican pop with some American and international pop for an eclectic mix to suit the mix of tourists and rich locals. Nicky had only seen Jason intermittently since they arrived, was playing her part by getting 'drunk' and dancing with increasingly less inhibition. She didn't know who she was supposed to be showing off for, but knew if it wasn't working she would be pulled and therefore was not going to worry about it. She already had the exit strategy in place, and was glad the time was approaching when she was rudely pulled off the floor. She turned around to see her father and Danny Zorn standing there, sheepishly.

"What in the hell are you doing, leaving your mother at the worst point of her life and coming to Mexico to party?" Her father was furious, and Danny looked like a teenager who'd been scolded by his date's parent for keeping her out too late.

"Why are you both here?" she hissed, trying to shake off her father's hand and move them into a less public place. They were attracting some attention already, and she knew Jason was going to go ballistic if she couldn't control this right now. She couldn't say anything about work or they would all be blown. "It's none of your business why I'm here!"

Danny started to speak up and John Parsons ignored him. "You are a cruel and selfish bitch, young lady. I cannot believe a daughter of mine could be capable of it. At least your friend here had the decency to do the right thing."

They had attracted quite a bit of attention now, and for once out of the corner of her eye she saw Jason coming. _Oh shit_. She was the only one prepared when Jason wrenched her dad's hand off her arm and flattened him with a single punch, then swung at Danny Zorn and knocked him down too.

"I told you, old man, your daughter can do whatever the fuck she wants now. She doesn't need you or your money." Then he took her arm and propelled her out, right past the target and his entourage who had been vastly amused by the whole spectacle.

"Where are we going?" she whispered once they were clear of the crowds.

"To Danny's hotel. Call Conklin, NOW." Jason's voice was laced with violence, his mind working and reshuffling the entire evening ahead.

"Ow," Nicky said, glancing at his hand on her arm. Jason looked down and let her go. "Sorry."

She pulled her phone out of her bra, dialed Conklin's cell as she got into Jason's expensive car.

"Conklin."

"We have a problem, sir. My father just blew an op in Cabo, with Danny's help."

The swearing that came down the line was laced with profanities that Nicky had never heard before. She looked at Jason, whose jaw was so tight he could have been carved of marble. "Bourne saved it, maybe." The only response she got to that was a nod. "We're going to reassess and see if it can be salvaged."

"I'll be there in two hours. I'm in LA. You keep those two jackasses there! Tell Bourne if he has to break their arms to do it, I don't give a shit, they'd better be there when I get there!"

"Yes, sir." Nicky hoped that would not be necessary. Somehow she thought Jason would thoroughly enjoy it.

*-*  
Jason's swift takeover of Zorn's hotel room was no less impressive than Nicky's commandeering of Zorn's laptop. She logged into her own profile and got up to speed on the op. "This isn't your usual area—do you know why you were pulled in?"

Jason shrugged. He was still pissed off, but had parked it until the hapless Zorn showed up. Nicky bit her lip. There was no guarantee her father would come back with Zorn. In fact, if she had to bet on it, she'd guess her father would be at HER hotel room.

"There's a trail here, but it's locked off. Conklin's boss must be involved." She saw her attempt at distraction didn't work. Jason had obviously come to the same conclusion she had.

"I'll be back." Nicky leapt up from the chair, got in front of him as he headed for the door. "Ohhhh no, you're not going after him without me."

"And you're going to stop me how?" His expression was stony, his tone freezing cold.

"Don't you go off into that headspace with me, Jason Bourne! We both know my father is NOT your target, so drop the game face and get real. We have to figure out what is salvageable, which means we need to know what Zorn has done for you already, and what you're going to do next. It's better to figure that out right now before the freak show arrives."

"I already know what I'm going to do." Nicky's heart was briefly chilled by the fleeting expression in his eyes.

"What can I do to help set it up?" She rubbed her arm unconsciously, the bruises from his punishing grip starting to show. Jason looked at it and it broke his concentration. "I'm sorry about that."

"It's okay, it happens. What can I do to help?" She was glad he was back in normal time, because for a few moments she wasn't sure if her mother wasn't going to add widowhood to her immediate list of problems.

Jason looked at her. "Nothing." She shivered again. This was why the logistics agent was usually on the back end—once the target was acquired, the asset was capable of finding any method required to accomplish the task.

"Okay." She caressed his face quickly. "Be safe." She was glad to see one tiny flicker in his eyes before he turned away.

The keycard clicked in the door and Jason was there the second Zorn entered, threw him against the wall and held him there by the throat. "If you ever interrupt one of my missions again I will kill you. Do you understand me?" The naked violence in his tone was brutal, and Nicky flinched. This was the side of him that she knew was there, but had never seen. His face was completely expressionless, and she had no doubt that he could kill Danny right here, right now.

"Yes," Danny said, his voice choked from the tight hold Jason had on him. Jason dropped him and turned away to Nicky. "Your hotel room, now. Let's go." Danny filed in, Nicky tossed one of Zorn's dress shirts over her dress and tied it at the waist as they walked out. She met Danny's eyes, looked at Jason again.

"I've changed my mind. I don't want your job," Danny said, rubbing his throat.

"You couldn't do her job," Jason snarled. "Get in." He'd hotwired a broken down Scout, its owner probably in one of the brothels around.

"Where is my father?" Nicky asked Danny when they were heading toward the resort.

"I don't know, he was pretty pissed off when he left the club. What about the mission?"

"It's salvageable," Nicky assured him, meeting Jason's eyes in the rearview mirror. "Conklin is coming in."

"Shit." Danny put his head down on his hands.

To say that John Parsons was unhappy at the company she was keeping when she arrived in her room was an understatement. Jason's first move on entering the room was to break her father's arm with a punishing blow to the forearm when he tried to touch Nicky.

"Bourne!" she cried, stopping herself from calling him Jason just in the nick of time. Her father groaned from the pain, and she rushed over to see how bad it was. "It's a double break—Danny, find something we can use as a splint." She looked up at Jason, that same coldness on his face. "Why was that necessary?"

Jason didn't answer, but spoke to John Parsons instead. "Don't you ever interfere with one of my missions or hers again."

John nodded. He recognized what this man was. Satisfied, Jason turned away to code in the friendly injury. Nicky's phone buzzed with it, knew Conklin would be receiving a similar text. She checked the clock before Danny returned with the toiletry tray from the bathroom—Conklin should get here within twenty minutes. Her phone buzzed again, which told her Conklin was on the ground.

"Conklin will be here in ten minutes," Jason said, flipping his phone closed. He crossed his arms and assumed the military stance while watching Nicky bandage up her father's arm. She glanced at Zorn. "Danny, get the meds from your bag. Codeine."

She exchanged a glance with Jason. She knew he was wondering why she wasn't using some of the harder stuff.

"I'm sorry about this, Nicky. I didn't think you were really working." Nicky knew how much that apology cost her father, patted his hand absentmindedly.

"That's okay, Dad, I know eventually you'll realize I'm doing real work."

So it was that when Conklin arrived he found a sullen Danny, a tired John Parsons who was in pain with a broken arm, an impatient Jason Bourne and a watchful Nicky Parsons trying to keep them all in line.

"Parsons." He nodded to her, then approached Bourne. That he was pissed off beyond reason was clear. "When are you out?"

"Now." Conklin nodded. He assumed Jason was pissed at having to play babysitter for Parsons Senior and Zorn, while Nicky knew much better.

"I'll send the report as a priority when I code in." That Jason would not hesitate to throw Zorn and Parsons under the bus in his report was without question. Jason exited the room and Conklin turned to survey the sorry sight of Danny Zorn.

"So how did you escape his fate?" he asked sarcastically, nodding to John Parsons' broken arm.

"He nearly choked me to death," Danny said, his voice still hoarse. He didn't know it yet, but he had fingerprint bruises on his throat.

"Good, I am sure you deserved it, you puling idiot! What in the hell were you thinking to get between an asset and his handler on an operation?" Conklin wasn't yelling now, the insecure location causing him to moderate his tone—but he might as well have been from the way Zorn flinched.

"And you! You are way too experienced to make such a green and completely irrational move! What in the bloody hell do you think gives you the right to go after one of MY PEOPLE when they are WORKING?" Conklin was done with tiptoeing around Parsons' position in the agency. "I don't give a shit what family problems you have with your wife or your daughter, but you'd better remember this, she belongs to ME and MY PROGRAM FIRST. That is the way it works in this agency and you know it better than anyone. I have the personal guarantee of Ezra Kramer that you will be put out to pasture if you EVER interfere in even the SMALLEST MEASURE in your daughter's work again, do you copy me?" He shoved his finger into Parsons' chest to punctuate his point. They both knew this had damaged Parsons' credibility in the agency, and Conklin for one was grateful for the final cleavage of the pull the man had had over what he could and could not do with Nicky Parsons.

"I have already apologized to Nicky, I'm not going to repeat myself. I will be taking a medical leave," John said stiffly. He knew that Ezra was not going to hold it against him, but he also knew he had irrevocably lost any semblance of control he had over Nicky's job.

Alexander turned to Nicky. "Now, no one has explained to my satisfaction how it is that you just _happened_ to be in Cabo San Lucas at the exact moment when Danny Zorn was running an operation on-site for the program. Care to tell me how that happened, Nicky?" his tone was still irritated, but Nicky knew of all the people in the room she had the longest leash.

"It was the first flight out of Phoenix to a place with a warm beach." Her face was open and honest.

"Easy enough to verify," Conklin said, shaking his head. "Fuck me, Parsons, you're never taking a vacation again."

"With all due respect, sir, this was hardly a vacation. You still owe me a proper holiday." Nicky knew she was on safe ground now, because her alibi was airtight.

"Get out of my fucking sight. I'll take care of these two. Get your ass back to Paris."

"Yes, sir. But you'll have to be the ones to get out. This is my room, and I need to pack."


	8. Chapter 8

-Langley, Virginia-

Ward Abbott steepled his fingers and leaned forward on his desk. Danny Zorn looked like he was called into the principal's office, while Conklin paced by the window.

"He was totally irresponsible! Not only did he pass off his job to Parsons while she was off the clock, he blew the op! He should be fired!" Conklin was still angry about the mess in Cabo San Lucas. He tossed the copy of Jason's report onto Ward's desk.

"You've read that. Yes, Bourne salvaged it, but at the cost of an innocent civilian's life—a civilian that would have not been involved at all if Zorn hadn't gone back to high school because of a crush," Alexander fixed a laser-like stare on Danny, who slumped even further in the chair, an impressive feat given his six foot plus frame.

"Yes, Alexander, I've read the report. Danny, what the hell were you thinking? This is amateurish and childish," Ward was at his fatherly figure best. He had no intention of seeing Zorn busted out of the program, but he had to make sure he was under a tight leash in the future.

"Look, she coded in in Cabo, and Bourne hates working with me. Since she was already there I told him—what the hell would he have done if he SAW her there and I hadn't told him? These guys are so paranoid—I didn't want to do anything that might antagonize him."

Ward quirked an eyebrow at Alexander. "Now, that seems pretty reasonable to me, Alex. I probably wouldn't want to risk that kind of accidental encounter myself."

Alex nodded, "Fine, I will give him that. But there was no excuse for bringing Parsons in!"

Ward looked at Danny. "Why did you let him bully you?"

Danny squirmed in his chair. "I know he's well connected in the agency. What guy in his right mind would want to piss him off? And I didn't know Nicky was there with Bourne. I thought she did the final drop I was supposed to make and that she was enjoying herself. How was I to know that Bourne was using her for cover?"

Conklin interrupted him impatiently. "Given that YOU put her on the clock, you should have ASSUMED that she was doing something related to the operation. It's rule #1 that you never, EVER interfere in an op!"

Ward held up his hand. "Yes, we all agree that Danny made a bad call, don't we?"

Danny nodded. He sat up a bit; it looked like Abbott had his back. "I would not do it again."

Alexander huffed, folded his arms over his chest. "Well you can be damn sure you won't get the opportunity. You are off the handler list, period."

"I figured."

"I don't want him on my team," Alexander said bluntly, facing Ward.

"But imagine how much work it would be to bring someone else up to speed, Alexander. Let's not throw out the baby with the bathwater."

Conklin snorted in irritation. "Better to spend the time bringing someone up to speed than to risk the village idiot saying something he shouldn't."

Danny protested, "Sir, I believe my actions are eminently justifiable, and perfectly reasonable."

"Well of course you think that, Danny—but that is why you need more training! You are still as green as the grass. You cannot take things at their surface appearance," Ward said. "Alexander, he's just green. Keep him off the sensitive stuff for now and let him prove himself here. Maybe he can redeem his career from this little fiasco, make it a speed bump instead of a brick wall."

Conklin put his hands on his hips, turned to Danny. "You'd better be damn grateful to still be here, son. I don't know why Ward is willing to stick up for you, but you can bet your ass you won't be so much as breathing without my say-so."

Danny let out the breath he was holding, stood up. It was time to get out while the getting was good.

"Thank you, sir."

Conklin waited until Danny was almost out of the room, met Ward's eyes.

"Oh and Danny? I want you to forget about any designs you may have involving Nicolette Parsons. I'm not going to have my best handler subjected to passes and crappy pick-up lines from you or anyone else on this team. Clear?"

Danny nodded. That date was never going to get paid. His petty revenge was costly, indeed.

"That includes your bets about Bourne's entry methods and Castel's graphic sex logs. You're officially off the office surveillance."

"But sir, who is going to keep an eye on things?" Danny was annoyed now, as he viewed the surveillance as one of the chief perks of his position.

Conklin turned to Abbott. "I think Parsons has earned herself a break from Big Brother, wouldn't you say Ward?"

"Agreed."

-Munich, Germany-

Nicky's breath was freezing in white puffy clouds as she walked along the street. This close to Christmas, the city was decked out, the Christmas Market drawing thousands to enjoy the festivities. It was beautiful, and she was sure she would have appreciated it more if she weren't in the middle of the most complicated operation she'd ever managed, and if she weren't coming down with a raging head cold. She sneezed and stamped her feet. Mannheim was late, which did not improve her attitude.

"Ah, there you are my darling. Come on, let's stroll, shall we?" Mannheim swept a courtly bow, a gesture that would have been out of place coming from anyone other than him. He tucked her arm in the crook of his elbow and pulled her into the Renaissance market, making idle chit-chat with the appearance of interest in the knick-knacks and Lebkuchen for sale in various stalls.

"Very nice," Nicky said dutifully, her nose red from more than just the cold.

"You are very quiet today, Herchzen. I think you are out of spirits. Just one more stop, I promise."

Mannheim whisked her into a smaller section of the market, where she had to ask some questions of the proprietor of a small stall selling candle carousels. Her head was fuzzy, making her German less than stellar. Mannheim had left to purchase something else, and Nicky focused on the task, getting through the questions with as much grace as she could muster under the circumstances. She bought a Nativity carousel as a thank you and left the stall. Her head was starting to swim, and she had to think for a few seconds as to where she was supposed to go next. She moved slowly through the crowd, and suddenly Mannheim appeared again at her elbow.

"Now, what did our friend have to say?" Nicky filled him in as succinctly as possible. She hoped she had gotten the right information, could not remember exactly what it was they were after.

"Time to go. I can see that you need some help." His grip tightened on her arm, and Nicky gave him a look of alarm as her vision swam.

Mannheim leaned in to whisper to her as he skillfully navigated them through the crowd and toward his parked car.

"Ah, I can see that you suspect I have done something to you. Really, Nicky, I am hurt that you would think such a thing. Remember that I have given you nothing to eat or drink, and you would know if I had stuck you. I think you have a very bad cold and you need some help. Nothing more sinister."

He opened the car door for her. "You can code it in yourself—but I will be calling them as well. Come on, Herchzen. You are like a little sister to me."

Nicky felt absolutely terrible. She shivered and eyed Mannheim, fumbled for her phone. "I'm coding it now," she said through chattering teeth.

"Yes, please do. But get in the car, you are freezing." He turned to place a call himself, murmured a few words. Nicky's phone buzzed—Conklin. _Go with Mannheim, now!_

She half sank into the car, Mannheim turning to perfunctorily assist her as he continued talking into his phone, then turned on his earpiece as he started the car. "Yes, of course. But I have the op…something will have to be done to move her." He eyed Nicky, who was very pale. "No, I don't think it's that bad—but I cannot babysit, Alex. Yes, and that too. She cannot be there when I return." Mannheim's eyes darkened and his hands clenched the steering wheel, taking the turn a bit too aggressively.

"Fine. Sooner is better. I just got a new couch, it would upset me if she got sick over it." Mannheim clicked off, patted Nicky's knee. "All is well, little duck. You just have to wait it out for an hour."

He pulled up at his house, helped her out of the car. Nicky was feeling very groggy and hot from the heater, but her hands were ice cold. Mannheim helped her out of her coat and seated her on the couch, then appeared to think better of it and moved her to a large armchair instead.

"That is quite a fever you have…if I gave you some medicine, would you take it?" Nicky shook her head and Mannheim nodded. "I thought not. Do you have anything yourself?"

"I'll get it," Nicky said, removing her purse from underneath her stiff arm. "I can't remember if you touched my purse or could have done so." She was thinking hard but couldn't remember.

"Poor duck, this is a strange job, no? Well, I can offer you water from the tap? No? Suit yourself. I am going to eat my dinner…with all due respect, Herchzen, I will do so in the kitchen. I do not think it is a good idea to tempt fate. You sit tight and your ride will be here in about forty minutes."

Nicky heard pans being used, the fridge opening, a knife chopping and the sound of something sizzling. Mannheim kept up a meaningless commentary on his dinner as he made it, an easy monologue that was completely non-threatening and served to let her know where he was. Later Nicky would reflect that if she had to become so utterly incapacitated by an illness at work, she could not have picked a better asset than Mannheim to do so with. The Professor would have been immensely irritated, and God only knew what Castel would have done. And Jason…Nicky stopped herself. Jason was supposed to be doing a simultaneous plant and pick up. Mannheim…he was working too.

"When do you have to leave?" Nicky asked quietly, her mind refocusing for a minute through the haze of the virus.

"In about half an hour, Nicky. Conklin has assured me Bourne will be here before then to pick you up."

Mannheim returned to the living room, took a quick look at her and asked, "May I?" before putting his hand on her forehead. "You really need something for that, it is higher now. But of course I understand why you would not take what I give you—what person would?"

He turned off the gas fire. "That is not helping, I think. Now, I am going to go change, and you are going to stay right there." There was no question in his tone, and part of her fogged over brain knew that he was just the tiniest bit peeved that she was there, now, when he was getting ready. This was a tricky op, and it relied heavily on Mannheim's suave charms. She shivered when he returned dressed in an immaculate tuxedo, and it wasn't from the cold. He was pulling on driving gloves with an expression of malice in his face when the doorbell rang. Nicky's fog cleared in that moment when she glimpsed the killer surfacing.

"Ah, Bourne, right on time. Thank you, please come in and collect our little sister. She is not feeling terribly well."

"Let's go, Nicky." Jason propelled her off the chair and toward the door, helped her into the coat that Mannheim held out. "Mannheim," he nodded as they exited the door. Nicky looked back at Mannheim, who was watching them go, his own dark coat in hand.

"Do you know him?" Nicky asked stupidly as Jason buckled her into the car and got in, turned on the ignition.

"What did you think, Nicky? We all got trained in different places? Yes, I know him." Jason's face was cold and somewhat bitter.

"I'm sorry," Nicky said, and threw up in the foot well of the car.


	9. Chapter 9

-Stuttgart, Germany-

Nicky's head felt swollen. She gradually came to, heard Jason's voice. He was talking to someone on the phone.

"Yes, she's still sick…No, we're not making it back today." He paused. "She threw up three times in my car." He sounded annoyed. "Yes, it is inconvenient…She's drugged up on cold meds now. Of course from a pharmacy!"

"Let me talk to him," Nicky said weakly, lifting her head from the pillow. Jason eyed her, handed her the phone wordlessly.

"Hello?" Nicky croaked, then groaned. She ached all over.

"Parsons!" Conklin was relieved. Leaving the handler down in the care of an asset was the complete antithesis of how he liked people to be arranged. At least it had happened at the tail end of the missions. Thank God for silver linings.

"He hasn't killed me yet if that's what you're worried about," she said grumpily, Jason standing guard over her with his arms crossed.

"Jesus, Parsons! Watch your mouth! All right, I can tell you are really not feeling well, put Bourne back on the phone." Nicky handed the phone back to Jason and slumped back on the pillow. Jason ignored Conklin yammering on the phone. He felt her forehead, went to get some paracetamol and a glass of water. "Take it."

"I wouldn't kill her just for getting sick," Jason remarked coldly, interrupting Conklin's spiel. He had few enough opportunities to needle Conklin, he wasn't going to pass up a golden opportunity handed to him on a silver platter by Nicky.

"I didn't say that Bourne. You're well trained and you never leave a team member behind. Thank you for taking care of Parsons while she's down. When are you going to move her back to her apartment?"

"As soon as she's able to travel without vomiting in my car and able to take care of herself. I'm guessing 48 hours or less."

"Do you want me to send some field agents to take her to the hospital?"

"She's mumbling in her sleep from the fever. Do YOU want to send some field agents?" Jason looked again at Nicky. Her cheeks were flushed and she was tossing the covers around like a grumpy child.

"Never mind. Let me know as soon as you're on the move."

"Roger." Jason ended the call and sat down on the bed beside Nicky. "Do you feel like eating anything?" Nicky groaned again and turned her face away. "I didn't think so." He felt her wrist, checked her pulse. "From the symptoms I'd say you have a nasty norovirus."

"I need the bathroom." She stumbled out of bed and Jason helped her into the bathroom, held her hair back while she threw up in the toilet.

"I'm sorry," she said, shivering from the cold floor. Jason wiped her mouth with a washcloth, threw it in the sink.

"If you didn't have a highly contagious communicable disease, I'd still do ya." Jason helped her back into bed. Nicky smiled briefly, shivering. "Thank you Jason."

"No offense, but I need to go wash my hands. Go back to sleep Nicky." He rubbed her cheek and went to the bathroom. Her heart skipped a beat. Nicky closed her eyes and sighed. She was in serious trouble with Jason Bourne.

*Christmas Day, Paris, France*

"You need to eat more. You lost a few pounds from that virus." Jason was running his hands over her stomach, hips, a calculating look on his face. "You were skinny enough already." He leaned up to kiss her as she tousled his hair.

"I still say it's unfair that you escaped the Munich monster virus." She twisted to the side, caressed his face. He hadn't shaved yet, the stubble making him look relaxed.

"Good hygiene," he shrugged. She leaned forward, kissed him earnestly. He kissed her back, and gradually the quality of the kiss changed. Nicky infused it with tenderness, her lips pledging what her heart felt but she couldn't say with words. She could tell he knew it, hesitated to respond in kind. Her heart soared when he finally engaged in that deeper level, a flood of tender desire swamping her own response to him. He was making love to her, and she knew it. He couldn't have given her a better Christmas present.

"Jason, do you ever think about retiring?" Nicky was drying her hair with a towel as Jason completed more push-ups. He never skipped a day of training. Her question made him pause briefly, then he continued with the push-ups.

"No."

Nicky pushed gently again. "But not every black ops agent dies in the field. Some transition back stateside."

Jason stopped, flipped to his feet. "Leave it, Nicky." His tone was cold, his face closed off. She couldn't leave it, though. That gambling part of her nature was demanding a shot.

"Jason…"

"Stop it, Nicky. You don't even know my real name. **I buried me** when I joined Treadstone. How the hell could you possibly think I could go **back**? I don't have a past to go back to, and they want it that way." He had grabbed her, shook her to emphasize it.

"I don't believe that," she said with quiet sincerity. Jason's grip tightened and she winced. "Then you're still as much of a fool as I thought you were when I met you."

"Your life is not a throwaway, Jason! Conklin would be the first to tell you, you're the top asset. You get things done that no one else could do. They aren't going to just toss you in the trashcan like a used up weapon," Nicky knew this was important for him to understand. She didn't care if it went against every psychological principle she had learned from the Treadstone program and the training the assets went through. He needed this.

Jason let her go in anger. "I can't think like that, Nicky! You, of all people, ought to know that!" He was yelling now, paced away from her. "I'm going for a run."

"Will you be back?" Nicky folded her arms. She looked small and hurt. Jason's anger cleared.

"Why do you have to push me, Nicky? Why can't you just let it be? Just let it be what it is?" He had walked back over to her, was gently clasping her arms this time. He was genuinely frustrated. Nicky took a deep breath, enjoyed the scent of his sweat and just him.

"Because it's not staying the same, Jason—and you know it as well as I do."

"I can't let it grow, Nicky." His tone was flat. "I've gone too far already. Don't push me." The last was said as a warning, the cold and analytical side pushing back at her. She knew it and he knew it. What she would have said or done next remained a mystery. Jason's phone buzzed, breaking the moment.

"Syria. You know about this?"

Nicky shook her head. "Conklin is probably giving me the day off because of Christmas."

"It's fine. I don't need you anyway. I'm going to catch a flight." Jason stuffed his clothes into a backpack, ready to go. He would shower and change at his apartment. His mannerisms had completed the transformation, the cold tone of voice businesslike, efficient.

"I'll send whatever information is required," Nicky told him. She wasn't going to let him get away clean like that. "I'm going to talk to Conklin."

"Let it be, Nicky," Jason was angry again. "It's none of your goddamn business what happens to me, now or in the future."

"Who said I was talking about you?" she retorted angrily. "I repeat my assertion: you are an arrogant son of a bitch, Bourne."

"Maybe I am," he said, "You let me know when I haven't earned the right to it, Parsons." He was in her personal space again, intimidating her deliberately.

"Fuck you, Jason. I'm not afraid of you," Nicky retorted. She was walking on the thin edge now, knew it was possible she had pushed him too far. He threw the backpack across the room and she backed off as quickly as she could manage, skirting the couch and coffee table. He was stalking her with cold menace, and she felt nervous, the first skitters of fear creeping up. She knew she'd not make it to the door, feinted toward it anyway and pivoted into the bedroom instead. He wasn't fooled. She was heading for the window, the fire escape, when he slammed her forward against the wall, his body pressed against her back as intimately as they could get. The shock of the impact knocked the breath out of her and she shuddered from the close contact.

"Tell me you're not afraid of me right now, Nicky. Tell me this doesn't scare you," his voice was menacing, every muscle coiled and focused on her. His hands were moving on her hair, one on her neck. It was half caress and half threat.

"Yes, I'm scared," she whispered.

Jason was disgusted with himself. His whole body was tense with violence, heightened with hormones and insane fury that she knew him so well. He ignored his base instincts, let her go, turned, and left. Nicky cried.

-Damascus, Syria-

Jason waited patiently. He had let himself into an apartment after a mom had hustled out her kids for errands, and was keeping a close eye on the clinic across the street. He had been there for a week, and had a good sense for the target's patterns and habits. She had experienced some difficulties with her computer, lost some files. Conklin had been pleased about that, but she was still a threat. She was too good at her job, her articles raising too many eyebrows back home and abroad. Jason was going to take care of that today.

He saw his target coming out through the doors. She had a piece of paper in her hand, was talking into her cell phone. She looked happy. She turned as she unlocked the car door. Jason saw what she was clutching—an ultrasound picture. He didn't have time to experience any regrets, the car blowing up as soon as she engaged the ignition. He turned and let himself out as silently as he had entered. He would code it in from the airport.

-Paris, France-

"Damn it, you can't keep changing the meds like this! It's not helping any of them to be constantly transitioning off one med and onto another!" Nicky was angry, shouting at Conklin on the phone.

"Hold your fire, Parsons. This is based on the best recommendations of the psychiatrists here and in the program." Alex turned on his monitor, typed some notes. The fact that Parsons was going to bat for her assets raised her another notch in his opinion. "Of course, we will consider your reports from the field in any decisions to change meds."

"Castel is suffering from increasing bouts of hostility. He put a prostitute in the hospital in Sicily. The Professor is showing signs of paranoia. Mannheim's OCD is off the charts. Bourne is having debilitating headaches. You can't just treat them like the meds are plug and play—they are all unique! The meds need to be tailored to each one of them. Bourne needs better migraine meds. Castel needs a stronger antipsychotic. I'm going to give Mannheim Xanax myself if he cleans my desk during an interview one more time, and I can't even get the Professor to meet me here! This has to stop!"

Nicky paused to suck in air. The past few weeks had been bad. Something had happened at Langley, and Conklin wasn't talking. Whatever it was, it had a very bad knock-on effect on the program.

Alexander sighed. Now his handler was responding poorly. He knew it was a bad idea to hand off control of meds to the central planners.

"Look, Nicky, I'll bring Ward out for a meeting. He needs to see it for himself before he's going to be willing to go to bat for a change back to the way it was."

"The sooner the better, Alex. I really don't know how much longer this can keep up—but one of them is going to snap, and it's going to be ugly." She hung up the phone and rubbed her neck. If only Jason would code in from Syria. She was worried about him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Apologies for the delay. My kids have shared a cold, plus solo parenting this week, and work is gearing up. It's short but it's a great prelude to chapter 11. Thanks for the reviews!**

-Istanbul, Turkey-

Jason perused the offerings in the bazaar, idly thinking about getting something for Nicky. They had parted on strained terms, and he was still trying to deal with the fall-out. Knowing he'd just killed an equally talented young woman, with a new life inside her, did not sit well with him either. The sun reflected off a myriad assortment of brass lamps and ornaments, making his headache worse. They were getting worse, all things considered. He had come to expect them now during the daytime, creeping in whenever it was very bright and there were many reflections. Being out on the water was torturous. His analytical side pointed out that he'd been through that before. Check, survivable.

A pashmina caught his eye and he bargained with the stall attendant. He threatened to walk away twice before the man was satisfied with the quality of the bartering and agreed to his price. He knew it was higher than what a local would have paid, but there would always be disadvantages to being a white male in certain parts of the globe. He thanked him and left the bazaar. His watch showed that it was almost 24 hours since he saw that fleeting picture in black and white. He had to code it in or face serious repercussions from Conklin. He didn't think about how Nicky was feeling, that part of himself tightly boxed. He could only handle professional guilt at the moment.

A quick text and it was done. Now he had to get back to Paris. He looked at the busy street, colorful scarves mixed with modern haircuts, beards and children. His headache ebbed with a shift down a different street, the shade bringing relief and relatively plain storefronts. He leaned on a railing, just taking in the view. The part of himself that he had boxed inside, voiceless and restrained, made itself known again, without Nicky's help. Now he felt himself to be fractured, and helpless to do anything about it. It was more frustrating than any training, more damaging than any mind games they had played with him. He shut his eyes against the throb of the headache roaring back to life, ruthlessly made himself head for his destination regardless of his physical or mental state. _Today, I go home. Today I go home_. He repeated his mantra to himself until he was finally able to sink into the bliss of sleep on the plane.

-Paris, France-

Nicky sighed with relief, the text flashing across the screen. She was in the middle of preparing for the arrival of Conklin and Abbott, assembling all the pieces of the pattern she'd been noticing for a few months. She was saving her ammunition for the in-person meeting, not wanting to give Abbott a chance to prep a counterstrike with the Langley psychiatrists before she got going. The changeover of meds had been gradual, but she had noticed. The assets were becoming less stable in different ways. As the frontline agent, it was in her best interest to note these types of negative trends. The lack of communication from Langley about the reasons prompting the changes was ominous, in her opinion. One of the things she had learned from her father was that a lack of information often equaled danger. When your boss was reluctant to give you even a little information to work with, it was not a sign of good faith.

"Parsons." The secure line had been relatively quiet lately—also not a good sign.

"Parsons, I wanted to give you the heads up. We're moving up the arrival to tomorrow. I hope that doesn't interfere with the Bourne debrief."

Nicky was shrewd enough to recognize when she was being tossed a life ring.

"Absolutely not. In fact, it would be excellent if you could both observe it. I think it will illustrate my point far better than any report."

"See you tomorrow." Conklin hung up, hoping he had done the right thing. His instincts said she was onto something, but Ward was being smoky about it. This trip would be as much of a fact finding mission for him as it would be a chance for Ward to see how the program was responding.

Nicky hung up, relieved. Finally, her boss was giving her something to work with! This was cause for celebration, or would have been. Her mind had strayed again to Jason. _Fuck it._ Nicky packed her bag and grabbed her coat. She had just declared the workday over.

The streets were quieting down, the main school rush over. It was a bit early for most people to be off of work. Nicky bought herself a cappuccino and sat down to think. Jason would be headed back to Paris—was probably on a flight now. Her heart lurched at the thought of seeing him. Lately he had come straight to her after a mission. After their last meeting, she didn't know what he would do. The odds were even between him coming to her again to clear it up, or staying by himself to let her know he was still pissed off.

She did not bet on the latter possibility. Jason was the type of person to sort through, analyze, and commit to a course of action. She doubted he had spent more than 24 hours thinking about what they had said to each other, if that. He would have decided over a week ago what he was going to do when he got back. She was betting it was to find her…which left her with an uncomfortable decision. She knew the importance of this debrief. Abbott and Conklin would be there, hanging on his every word, mannerism, body language.

She could push him. Push him a bit further deliberately to strengthen her argument for a return to personalized meds, tailored based on field input.

She had no doubt it was important. The question was, what price would Jason exact for her hiding from him for one night? She had never succeeded in doing so before. This time, however, she had hours on him. She could do it, if she started now. She realized the cappuccino was stone cold. It was now or never. She stood up and hurried toward her apartment. This would shake up more than just work. She stopped herself from thinking too hard about it. If she did, it would scare her.

Jason's head was pounding again, the headlights from the cars whizzing by sending a flurry of darts through his brain. He felt tired. He had not been sleeping well, apart from the two hours he'd gotten on the plane. The cab pulled up in front of his apartment building, and he got out swiftly. He would shower, take the stronger meds he had acquired. Fuck the protocols. And then he was going to have it out with Nicky. She had to understand that this wasn't some game, and she wasn't going to get a Prince Charming at the end of it. She would be lucky to stay alive. He was amazed she hadn't realized that herself. Truthfully that was an insult to her intelligence—she was more likely incapable of acknowledging it consciously. He had no doubt that time would break that barrier far more effectively than he ever could.

He was back out on the street as the local nightlife was starting to hop. He didn't need to check his watch; it was about 10 o'clock. He walked the ten blocks to Nicky's flat, letting himself in the gate and into her apartment. The lights were off—she must be tired. He crept into the bedroom, his eyes quickly adjusting to the dark. The bed was empty.

Jason searched the rest of the apartment. There was no sign of Nicky. Her smallest case was missing, a few toiletries as well. She would not be out of town on business without cancelling the appointment for tomorrow morning. The only conclusion left was that she was hiding from him. The headache still throbbed under the surface, the flash of anger not helping. Instantly following the anger came the calculations. _What was she thinking?_ He let himself out, ensuring there was no trace of his presence as always. He now had the unpleasant task of finding her. Difficult, but not impossible. His first stop was the landlady's flat.

Nicky's feet hurt. She had left the second hotel now, and the small backpack she was using now was a welcome relief to the case she had just planted in the room after hauling it around half of Paris. She had gone to all the tourist spots, taken three cabs, and inquired at five hotels before checking into two of them. If she was lucky, that would take Jason two hours. It had taken her five to lay the false trails. She chuffed in the cold. This was the hardest part. She could have taken her chances with a different hotel, a seedier one, even one of the student dorms. She didn't think she would last the night in any of those. Her best bet was the one place he'd never expect to find her—his private apartment. She just had to remember the way.

She went back to the Louvre, picking apart every detail of that night. She got to the exit they had used, remembered the pace Jason set. She started to fumble a bit when she reached the street where he blindfolded her. She was digging deep in her memory now, trying to recall tiny sounds, the scrape of her shoes on the pavement, how many turns. She wasn't sure if the last turn was left or right. It was 1 am, and she was running out of time. Her last resort option was to take a circle of trains, but that was risky if a train broke down. She didn't want to explain to Conklin why she was on a train. The moon was half full, and she shivered, looked at the first possibility. Then she walked a few yards, examined the other possibility. What was the sound she had heard in the middle of the night? She had been asleep, it had woken her up. She looked again at the street, thought about the other one. It had been a tree that had not been pollarded yet. Suddenly it was obvious, the new growth clearly illuminated. She turned decisively. Her reward was the sculpture on the dining room table. She locked the door again, and collapsed on the couch. It would do for the night, she hoped.


	11. Chapter 11

Jason looked at the empty case. This was beyond pissing him off now. It was proof that she was deliberately hiding, planting false trails all over Paris. He had spoken with three cab companies, been to hotels, the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, and two hotel rooms. She probably had a backpack now, a smaller bag that had been inside the case. It was well past midnight now, with not as many people on the street. Without a trail to follow he would not have much luck until morning. A myriad of thoughts chased themselves through his head. At least the meds had chased off the headache. It was irrelevant whether she had run because of their personal lives or because of a work issue. He knew the meds changing was something she worried about. Nonetheless, it was never acceptable to run away from him. Tonight, she had probably won the battle. But tomorrow, he was going to make it clear that he would win the war. He headed out to beat the streets on the off chance someone had seen her. One more sleep deprived night wouldn't make a difference.

Nicky woke up early, before the dawn. She was jumpy, like a rabbit. She felt like she had violated his privacy by being in his apartment like this. She finished brushing her teeth, told herself it was for the greater good. An idea occurred to her as the shower caught her eye. She was already damned to whatever Jason was going to do to her; she might as well do it wholeheartedly.

Nicky arrived at the airport early to meet Conklin and Abbott.

"Nicky, I didn't expect a personal escort," Conklin joked.

"Well, it's just that my appointment for a debrief with Bourne is at 9. I would prefer to have you both there and settled before he arrives." Nicky's appearance was immaculate, her hair swept to the back in a low ponytail, a long skirt, knit blouse, and warm scarf and coat with tall leather boots completing her work look that happened to be eminently packable.

"Of course." Alex turned to Ward, who shook Nicky's hand. "Nicky, good to see you again."

"Shall we?" Nicky gestured to the waiting car. She was nervous, forced herself to take a calming breath before she got in. "How was your flight?"

For the first time in her life Nicky knew, absolutely _knew_ that Jason was watching when she arrived at the office with Conklin and Abbott. She followed them in, offering two copies of the brief report she had prepared about the change in meds. It was the teaser—she had the harder data in a slickly packaged report she would give them _after_ Jason's interview. Not unexpectedly, they wanted coffee. Nicky wondered if it was the universal lot of female employees to be tasked with making the coffee, but decided she didn't care as there was no one more junior to do it, and she had not had any breakfast. She walked through the inner office to the file room where the coffeemaker was kept, turned it on after she spooned in the coffee. When she walked back through the office she finally noticed the white bag on the desk. Her heart pounding, she opened it to find her favorite: an almond croissant. This was a test. Would she eat it, or wouldn't she? She turned deliberately to face the window, mouthed "thank you", and took a big bite. _All or nothing, Jason. I can't do it any other way._

She turned to walk back to Conklin and Abbott. Jason sat back to think about it. She was no fool. Obviously his debrief was part of her presentation to Conklin. If he had followed his usual habit, he would not have known they were there until he got inside. He always knew when someone else was there, no matter how stealthily they tried to arrange things. But this gave him time to contemplate her purposes more thoroughly. He was undeniably still pissed off, the adrenaline from the previous night's goose chase still floating through his system. His endocrine system was doubtless out of whack after the illicit drug to treat his headache. He stopped and took ten calming breaths. He did not need a headache to rear its ugly head now. One step at a time. First the interview, then when he had an opportunity, Nicky was going for a ride. He didn't think she'd make it into work tomorrow either. He checked his watch, stood up. _Your move, Nicky_.

"So the headaches are worse now?" Nicky's tone was purely professional, her pen moving rapidly on her notepad as he talked.

"Yeah. Reflections, lots of jarring colors—they make it worse." Jason could play poker too.

"How long are they lasting?"

"Depends on what I've been doing. They can be vicious after a completion." Jason deliberately hesitated on 'vicious', but her pen was steady. This was just the opening salvo. The anger was definitely still there, and discussing the job in Syria was amping it up.

"Ok, we are going to be discussing the headache meds today, so I will hopefully be calling you in with a better fit in terms of dosage and medication…Now, you coded in late for this op. That is not what you usually do-what happened?"

"I was distracted." To be truthful, Jason was still not sure what had caused him not to code it in at the airport before he flew to Tripoli, then Istanbul. That image of the paper had just been fluttering in his brain, staying his fingers.

"What distracted you?"

"A headache," Jason smoothly lied. He doubted Nicky bought it, but she wouldn't push either. He didn't give a thought to what Conklin or his guest would be thinking. As far as he was concerned, they were irrelevant. This was between him and Nicky.

"I see," Nicky shifted in her chair, loosened her scarf. The office was finally starting to warm up, and she was nervous. Jason was too calm. "So you're saying your headache lasted for 24 hours?"

Jason's nostrils flared briefly as he caught a scent from her movement. He knew that scent. It was _his_ soap. He met her eyes with a violent stare. He knew where she had been last night. _You clever bitch_. Nicky's eyes widened slightly for a brief second, and she looked down quickly. She was agitated. Jason forced himself to relax his posture.

"No, not a 24 hour headache. It took a while for me to remember that I hadn't done it." Jason was getting tired of the farcical nature of this interview, and it showed in the sharp tone he let creep into his voice. These questions were irrelevant, and he was adding more to the other set he was going to ask Nicky at the first available opportunity.

"Was there anything unusual about your target? Something that you found distracting?"

_You mean like the fact that you broke into my apartment last night, Nicky?_

"No." He ignored the faint, broken noises from his conscience. It was done.

"Have you taken any medications other than the ones I am giving you?" Nicky was pushing now with deliberate intent, and Jason had had enough.

"Do I need to tell you every time I take a Lemsip or ibuprofen Nicky? Or just let you know if I drop Ecstasy with a hooker?" He stood up as he was talking, making her look up at him. "I'm done. You know where I am if you have any more _questions_, Nicolette."

Jason nodded in an ironic gesture of respect, then swiftly left before he was tempted to strangle her. She had played him well for her audience. He hoped she found the price of admission worthwhile, because he intended to collect as soon as Conklin was headed back to the airport.

Nicky took a deep breath. She shoved Jason forcibly from her mind. She still had a report to give to Ward Abbott, and she intended to do it. She collected her notes and went to speak to Ward and Alexander. She would like to claim a sense of satisfaction from Ward's agreement with her argument, but a large part of her brain was increasingly dominated by the hamster in the wheel that was contemplating exactly what Jason was going to do and not do to her the second they left.

"This is excellent work, Parsons. This is exactly what I want to see my best handlers do—keep the assets forefront, even if it means an argument. Good job."

Conklin's praise as they were leaving made a part of her happy. She hoped it meant they would adjust the meds. Ward had said he had to talk to the psychiatrists at Langley, but her data was compelling. She was going to start dropping hints to the more stable ones about adjusting their own meds if they didn't…if she was still there to do it.

Nicky gnawed on her lower lip, tried to focus on the research she was supposed to be doing for the Professor for the rest of the day. Lunchtime was upon her and she was afraid to leave the office. At any time, Jason could walk back in and the nightmare part of today would really begin. She filled her time with cleaning up the files on the computer, shredded some documents that needed it but not urgently. The waiting was slowly increasing her anxiety levels. Head games, he was playing with her. It didn't help to admit it. Goosebumps appeared on her arm and she rubbed them idly. She was scaring herself the longer she stayed. She clicked off the radio with sudden violence. Might as well face the music.

She was bundled back up, heading for her favorite wine bar. If he was going to grab her, she would prefer to try to get at least one glass of wine in her system first. She was less than a block away from it when he bumped into her from the opposite direction, turned her around.

"You don't think it would be that soft, do you Nicky?" he asked patiently, as one might ask a child.

"I don't know, Jason." She darted a glance at him, trying to get a feel for his state. His face was cold and focused entirely on her.

"I think you do, Nicky. You went to great lengths to piss me off in the last 24 hours. I'm going to spend however long it takes to get every grain of the truth out of you." Jason folded her into his car, started the engine.

"Where are you taking me?" Nicky licked her lips nervously. This was bad, very, very bad.

"Somewhere that no one can hear you scream. You decide whether that's going to be necessary."

Nicky took a deep breath. "I'm not going to apologize for doing my job."

Jason stopped, clasped the back of her neck so that she had to look at him. "Ditto, Nicky."

"I'm not your job, Jason," she retorted, even though she was scared shitless. She couldn't read him and what he meant. It was all still head games here, until they got to wherever he was taking her. Then it would go to a whole other level. Jason didn't respond, just focused on the drive. They were going rural, and Jason was making no effort to hide their destination. All of these things made her very nervous.

"Nicky, you became my job the minute you became my lover. Today, you're going to learn that."

There was nothing to do but wait. An hour passed, then two. Jason's face never changed. Nicky was growing more concerned with each minute that passed. She told herself it was just a part of the game, but her faith in that was shrinking. Even knowing it could be another tactic Jason was using did not alleviate the fear that was growing like a small, snarled ball in her brain. They passed through a small village, and Jason had to stop several times for pedestrians and traffic. She thought wildly for one second about bailing out, wondered how far she would get.

"Don't."

The single cold statement made the black ball grow exponentially. He was taking in _everything_ she did. She was in the sight and had remained firmly fixed there for two hours. She had probably been there for almost eighteen at this stage. She swallowed, looked out the window again. He was slowing down, turned onto a dirt road. _Oh my God_. An old stone barn stood in the twilight. There was nothing visible for miles. He parked and got out, waited. She didn't move. It was childish, but she wasn't going to walk in there, irrationality briefly dominating her mental struggle. Jason opened her door.

"Out."

"No." She didn't even look at him, refused to do so. Jason grabbed her arm and yanked her out of the car.

"You've pushed enough of my buttons in the last twenty hours Nicky. It's my turn."

Nicky stumbled on the gravel and he kept pulling her along, into the shadowed structure. "Don't move." He strode off with purpose, completely at home in the darkness. He left her for a few minutes, some soft scraping of metal and wood around the large space echoing back as he did whatever he was doing. Finally he flipped on some lights, and Nicky was able to take a look at parts of the space. There were the usual barn accoutrements: rope, a pulley, (presumably) a hayloft above, hay hooks and a rake hanging on the wall. There were some other additions, some vague, shadowy outlines. She could see some chains, what looked like a punching bag but she couldn't be sure. Jason had put a chair in the middle of the most illuminated space, walked over to fetch her and propel her like a marionette toward it. He pushed her down onto the hard seat, crouched down and grabbed her hair so she had to meet his eyes. He was firm but wasn't hurting her…yet.

"Nicky, tell me I don't need to restrain you; that you're going to give me whatever I ask, whenever I ask it." The factual nature of the statement belied the very dangerous question it posed. If she said _anything_ that he thought was a breach of that promise, it was going…well. It would…it would be bad.

"Of course I will do that Jason." Nicky hoped for some softening, got none.

Jason let go of her hair and stood up, retreating to the shadowy periphery. "Why weren't you at home last night?"

"I knew something had…bothered you in Syria. I also knew that all of you have been suffering various symptoms since the meds were changed. I wanted an…unbiased sample of you, specifically."

"Meaning you didn't want me relaxed from sex."

"Yes. And I wanted to see how your stress levels were different after this job, officially."

"Why didn't you leave a note?" Jason was pacing a bit, irritation creeping in.

"If I left a note, you would have figured out what I was after."

"What various symptoms are the others suffering from?"

Nicky swallowed. Ordinarily this was not information she would share with Jason. However, under the circumstances there was no way she could not tell him.

"Castel is becoming more psychotic. He's hospitalizing civilians with his episodes. I think Conklin is pulling him for retraining if it happens again. The Professor is showing signs of schizophrenia."

"Mannheim?" Jason was to her left now, and she didn't dare turn her head to try to see him in the shadows.

"His OCD is growing. No sign of agoraphobia yet, but he's too social for that still."

"What about me?" He was closer, behind her now.

"Your headaches are getting worse, you know that. But you're also showing signs of…" Nicky stopped. This was not information she was sure she should share right now. She didn't know how he would respond.

Jason yanked her hair back, twisted her head to the side. "Signs of what, Nicky?" His tone was brutally icy. Nicky could see that he was angry.

"Signs of emotional distress," she whispered.

He shoved her head away, walked off again. Nicky exhaled. He was exhibiting incredible control. She heard him disassembling his semiautomatic. The minutes ticked by. _What is he doing?_

Jason was thinking. The mechanical task calmed him down. He checked all the pieces, ensured they were clean. Nicky wasn't going anywhere. She was smart enough to stay in that chair for as long as was necessary. He finally had to admit that his relationship with Nicky was having a bad effect on his work. It made him consider his emotions. The Syrian journalist was a bitter reminder. He was reassembling the weapon now, the pieces locking into place with machine precision. He paused briefly. Was that what he wanted to be? A well trained machine? What the fuck did it matter, what he _wanted_? He slid the clip in, chambered a round.

Nicky saw Jason coming toward her. He had finished with his gun. She knew it was loaded.

"Why me, Nicky? Why not have Conklin see Mannheim's interview, or the Professor's?"

He was again crouched down in front of her, his index finger along the barrel of the gun.

"Because they didn't believe me, Jason. They didn't believe me because you were doing so well in spite of the meds." She closed her eyes, the tears falling. Jason's left hand clenched. He stood and raised the gun.

"Look at me, Nicky." She opened her eyes and met his gaze.

"Get out of here." Jason turned his head and emptied the clip into the target on the far wall. He didn't need to look to know she had gone. He'd find her when he was done thinking.


	12. Chapter 12

Nicky stumbled on the path outside, but kept going. She wanted to put as much distance between her and Jason right now as she could get. She was heading on foot toward the village they passed through. He had left the keys in the car, but it was too risky. She didn't want to do anything to draw his attention from whatever was capturing his thoughts at the moment. She was running, determined to give herself, give them a chance. This was the great divide he was staring down. He had to choose between the training and his feelings. She would never have pushed it herself, wondered as she ran what exactly had happened in Syria to make him realize it. Maybe she would never know. She hit the paved road and found a comfortable pace she could sustain. It would take twenty minutes to hit the next turn, another thirty to hit the village. Her watch said 6:30. That meant people. She ran faster.

She was tired when she finally reached the outskirts, had to slow down so she could regain her breath and not look like a crazy woman. She had some new blisters on her heels from the boots, which were hardly the ideal running shoe. Nonetheless, they were far better than high heels. It was a small place, but there were people. She wanted something to drink, her throat dry and her nerves raw. She parked herself in clear view of the door in a hole in the wall café, ordered tea and a glass of wine at the waitress' raised eyebrow. She threw in the special of the day, although her stomach rebelled at the thought of food. It didn't matter if she stuck out like a sore thumb. She was back to waiting for Jason's next move.

* * *

Jason punched the bag again, flipping past to the next part of the circuit. His movements were automatic and efficient, the complete antithesis of what was running through his mind. He couldn't stop the activity, or his mind would endlessly loop over the same questions again. Why had that extra piece of information bothered him so much? What was it about that black and white picture and what it represented that had churned up everything he felt for Nicky?

The recoil from the next station felt good, released some of the violence that was the Pavlovian response to emotional turmoil. He had given up all pretense of a normal future some time ago. He had signed it away willingly, certain he would be dead before he was forty anyway, he might as well make it count. Yet here he was, little whispers from Nicky gnawing away at him, joined in their Greek chorus by that part of himself the program had done its best to silence forever. She had revived him, permitted him to enjoy his personality again, remember that it wasn't all deserving of consignment to the trash heap of the past. He stopped, breathing hard. For that alone, Nicky was important. A part of him had always known that what Treadstone did to him was fucked up, the way they carved up his psyche and tossed the bits they didn't like, replaced it with their own idea of how he could be more "functional". The problem was, _functional_ wasn't living. With Nicky, he got to _live_. He stopped and changed direction, headed for the door.

* * *

"Nicky." Jason's presence caused her heart to skip a beat. She couldn't have said which it was, fear or relief, that flooded through her. She met his eyes, took the hand he held out to her. A peace offering. Okay. He didn't say anything else, just swept her outside to the car and back to the barn. They were both silent, random thoughts blowing quickly through their minds.

He took her hand again when they were there, finally turning as soon as the door was closed to kiss her hungrily, crowd her body against the stone wall. Nicky responded forcefully, her need just as great. He smelled of sweat and dust, his mouth wet and active on hers, then her neck. She sucked on his earlobe, ran kisses on his jawline before conquering his mouth again. He rucked her skirt up, grabbed her bottom with both hands and lifted her around his hips.

"Nicky, I can't wait," he said in her ear, shredding her panties and pinning her to the wall in one swift move.

"Oh my God…neither can I, Jason," Nicky closed her eyes, her body completely out of control in short order as they tumbled off the edge together.

* * *

"How did you find it?"

They were in bed, Jason's hand caressing her hip soothingly as they talked. Nicky's hands couldn't stay still either, tracing freckles on his shoulders, running along his hairline behind his ear. They had both "_slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered_", as F. Scott Fitzgerald put it, and the open acknowledgement of it was still being treasured.

Nicky met his eyes. "I just remembered that night, walked through the sounds, smells. It was harder when you blindfolded me, but there was enough to go on."

"I'm impressed. I wouldn't think you would have been able to get the right place." Jason _was_ impressed. She had nowhere near the level of training he had received, yet she had been able to pull out and use minute details from one trip to his apartment.

"I was desperate. I knew you would find me if I went anywhere else."

He kissed her, gently now because her lips were swollen from hard use over the past three hours. "Where would you have gone if you couldn't find it?"

"My last refuge was a round robin train trip." Jason growled and turned her onto her back, looked down on her with annoyance.

"I spent the rest of that night on two different trains, Nicolette Parsons. You owe me one sleepless night."

"I thought I was paying now," she said teasingly, her eyelids half-closed.

"Love, you haven't _begun_ to pay me," Jason stated. She laughed, pushed him in the shoulder. "We need to sleep. I have some ungodly number of minutes now to sleep before I have to get back."

Jason looked at her. "Oh no, this is not that easy. You are off tomorrow. You can code it in in the morning. I don't give a damn what is on your schedule, you're not going anywhere."

"You're a demanding boss," she teased. "As co-owner of this enterprise, I demand a clear contract of terms."

Jason slowed in his perusal of her body with his hands. His face was suddenly serious as he looked at her.

"I can't breathe without you anymore, Nicky. I couldn't do anything else other than see you after a job is done." His eyes were troubled; Nicky reached up to caress his face.

"I'm your anchor in the storm, Jason. I don't have to know everything that you go through to be that for you."

Jason's attention was fiercely loving all of a sudden. He worked his way back up to her face with his lips, whispered in her ear, "Thank you for finding David Webb, Nicky."

She met his eyes, said, "You're welcome. And I love you, no matter what name you go by."

He kissed her hard, swollen lips be damned. He was desperate to show her what he couldn't bring himself to say—how much he loved her. "Just don't fall pregnant, Nicky," he murmured later against her skin.

"Oh David." There was a wealth of consolation, shared regret in her voice. Today it was enough for both of them.


	13. Chapter 13

Breakfast was a simple affair. Nicky was contemplating the meager stash of groceries in the cabinet when Jason came in from the car, a sack of groceries yielding eggs, some vegetables, and milk.

"When did you get that?"

Jason raised an eyebrow as if her question was beneath her.

"I can't believe you had a bag of groceries ready when you were stalking me," she huffed with a tiny bit of irritation. His arms slid smoothly over his tshirt, gently caressed her rib cage as his hips grazed her bottom.

"Yes, you can." She turned slightly sideways to give him her best annoyed look, which he utterly ignored.

"Were you a Boy Scout, Mr. Always Prepared?" she asked grumpily. The Italian espresso pot was still perking, and she was missing her hit of caffeine.

"No," he grinned, kissed her neck. "Does that expand your breakfast repertoire?"

Jason leaned up to get mugs for the coffee. He knew Nicky's mood would improve drastically with the first sip of coffee.

"Yes. I'm making a frittata." She had cracked some eggs into a bowl, added a small bit of milk. Jason had to back up as she started beating the mixture hard.

"Do you want me to chop up the vegetables?"

Nicky glanced at the vegetables on the cutting board. "Yeah. And pour that coffee, please."

They worked together in companionable silence. Jason sliced and diced the vegetables with a professional ease, the knife a natural extension of his hand. Nicky chased away a stray thought about how many times he'd used a knife in other capacities. Today was a day for Nicky and Jason, people; not for CIA agents.

"I think they could use another minute," Jason commented when she stopped beating the eggs. She swiveled, waving the whisk at him.

"Look, Bourne, if there is one thing I know, it is how to make a frittata. I practically lived on these while in college. This is good enough." Satisfied when his mouth closed instead of saying something else, she dumped the vegetables into the mix. "You want to be helpful, turn on the salamander. Otherwise, fix that coffee!"

Jason was smart enough to not endanger his breakfast further. He kissed her and went for a quick shower while she finished the frittata. He didn't miss the pause and expectant look when he had the first bite.

"Very good," he said. "It's very light."

Nicky was satisfied but still a bit grumpy. She was definitely not used to operating on less than optimal sleep. "Maybe I can actually teach you something about eggs."

"Need some more coffee?"

* * *

She couldn't get over how the simple act of holding Jason's hand in public made her heart swell. It was warm and strong, his grip firm and commanding. He looked at her and caught her smiling.

"What?" He was as relaxed as she'd ever seen him, affection lacing his tone.

"I love holding your hand," she admitted freely, "It's a little thing, but it's nice."

"Yeah, it is." He squeezed her hand, turned back to the table. "Now, mushrooms—chanterelle or portobello?"

Nicky picked the chanterelles and Jason added it to the basket she carried. "What exactly are you planning to cook?"

"So I'm doing the cooking, am I?" Jason grinned. He knew perfectly well that Nicky was an indifferent cook at best. Her frittata was probably the best she had to offer without ample assistance from prepared ingredients. Nicky shoved him with her shoulder, laughed.

"I'd ruin it, whatever it is you're going to make—and you know it."

His eyes twinkled and he leaned in for an unhurried kiss. "It's our vacation day. I'm not going to waste the opportunity to show you what a great catch I am."

"I do hope your grand plans include dessert."

"That, sweetheart, is a surprise."

They spent some time wandering around the countryside. It was cold, but there was only a dusting of snow and the day was clear. Nicky got a few more tastes of David Webb when Jason referenced the countryside he was used to growing up, talked about getting enough snow for sledding. She wondered about his path to Treadstone, but he was not volunteering more than the trivial. She was grateful for even that, squeezed his hand through their gloves. Their eyes met briefly and they resumed their tramp through the lane. He asked her about her childhood. They both carefully skirted the topic of her father, but he laughed at her description of some of her mother's more flighty antics when she was a pre-teen.

"Yeah, can you imagine? My mom was convinced that I was going to be an Olympic figure skater. She was dragging me to all of these coaches, and refused to listen to me when I said I didn't want that," Nicky shook her head. "She's like an unstoppable force of nature when she gets started."

"Then you're just like your mom, Nicky," Jason half-teased.

"Oh my God, you did NOT just say I am like my mother! That's the world's worst curse! You're supposed to be saying sweet nothings to me, remember?"

Jason grabbed her roughly around the waist, pulled her tight. "I am? Damn, I'd better fix it quick."

It was mutually agreed that a quick return to bed was necessary after Jason's more physical compliments.

"Please tell me your dinner includes meat," Nicky called out from bed, rolling onto her tummy, which was now growling.

"You will like it," Jason promised from the kitchen. Nicky pulled a blanket over herself. The barn was heated but the structure being as old as it was, it was hardly well insulated. She studied the loft, which had been transformed into an apartment of sorts. The bathroom was tiny, the electric shower barely big enough for Jason. She wondered how long he'd owned it, how much time he'd spent doing things himself to make it a training space as well as a retreat. This was two of his private hideaways she'd seen—who knew how many more he had. She wondered if the other assets had similar retreats, asked him.

"Sorry to bring up work," she said as an afterthought, her eyes trailing over the exposed ceiling beams. It had been an innocent question, and Jason treated it as such.

"I'm sure we all have our places. It's not just the training, you need a place like this off the grid."

"I understand." Nicky wrapped the blanket around herself, went over to the tiny kitchen space to kiss him on the shoulder. "Can I do anything to help?" She saw cubed squash, the mushrooms roughly chopped. Jason looked at her wryly.

"What do you think?"

"No." She kissed the tip of his nose impulsively. "Thank you for not saying it."

He popped a small piece of cheese in her mouth. She licked his finger mischievously, gratified by the burst of heat in his eyes.

"Better watch that, Nicky, or you won't have any dinner."

She chewed the cheese, her eyes sparkling. "It wouldn't be the first time. That is very good, what kind of cheese is that?"

"Something local. Go get dressed before I ravish you and ruin our dinner." He turned back to the counter, dismissing her.

Nicky decided she would do her best to make herself pretty. She surveyed the contents of her handbag, rifled through her clothes. She could work with his tshirt, she had a scarf…a plan was forming. She collected the pieces, headed for the bathroom.

"Do you mind if I steal this shirt permanently?" she called out, certain of the "No" before he replied. She took out a pair of scissors and got to work.

The smells that greeted her when she came out were intriguing. Jason was plating dinner, almost dropped a plate when he saw her. The smile was a worthwhile payoff. She had ripped out the neck of the tshirt and cut it lower, added the scarf as a belt and rolled up the waist of the skirt just once. The effect was quite different from what she had been wearing, and she had managed to eke out a bit of lipliner and some blush from some remnants in her bag. Jason pulled out her chair, served the food while it was hot.

"This smells delicious—what did you make?" She tilted her head for a brief kiss when he put her plate in front of her.

"Sautéed chanterelles, roasted squash, and roasted chicken _en papillote_. And a burgundy glaze."

It was gorgeous. Nicky asked, "How do you come up with this?"

"I just used what was in the market. That is the best plan most of the time. The flavors tend to blend well together if it's all in season." He studied her over his wineglass. She knew it was a sign of his level of relaxation if he was allowing himself to have any wine at all.

"Do I want to know how you learned to cook?" She had pillowed her head on her hands, elbows propped up on the table. She wished she knew all the pieces to him, everything that had gone on before now. It was hard to be so intimate and be so disconnected from the first part of his life.

"My grandmother used to cook. Not always well, but with love. After many years without decent cooking, I suppose it occurred to me that I'd better learn. You can't ask for a better place than Paris to learn how to cook."

Jason stood, held out his hand to Nicky. His eyes were wistful, just a tiny bit, she thought. Always the control was there, always. She became conscious of the music that was playing in the background. "Dance with me."

It was a snapshot memory, that dance. Nicky took in all the sensory input: the slight scent of his shirt, the beat of his heart, the warmth of his hands through her skirt, her shirt. The featherlight kiss on her hair, his breath on her face. She would cherish it long after everything blew up.

-Paris, France-

"I don't understand," Nicky's voice expressed her frustration. "You saw for yourselves, it's a clear pattern. What, do you _want_ them to blow up?"

Conklin's voice diffused through the line, offering excuses and rationales that made no sense, and they both knew it. Nicky started hearing "Blah blah blah," but listened dutifully because that was her job. She threw a last 'hail Mary' at him: "What does the original program psychologist have to say about this?"

Conklin didn't know. He wasn't sure that person was consulted. He would check. Right. He would check. And in the meantime Nicky had very little concrete change to offer to the program assets, which ensured she would have continuing problems. At least they were changing Castel's antipsychotic. Little good that did her for the others, however. The headaches were now plaguing all of them. She now had a difficult choice—would she steer any of them toward self-regulation for the headache meds? She already knew the answer with regard to Jason. The question was whether she trusted any of the others enough to recommend the same. She chewed on her fingernail. Jason was in Dublin. She had sent the last of the information he needed that afternoon. She had no idea when he would code it in, but it always made her nervous now when he was gone. Somehow the stretches they could stay apart were shortening. She glanced out at the late afternoon sun, checked the clock. Mannheim was due in from Munich for an interview. It wasn't like him to be on-time, he was usually early. She heard the door and turned as he came in.

"Good afternoon, Herchzen, I am sorry to be later. The train was delayed." He nodded politely, gestured for her to sit first.

"I understand. Shall we begin?"

Nicky dutifully ran through the required questions, took his blood pressure and checked his pupils. He wasn't due for the more rigorous blood screens today, so he didn't have to take off his jacket.

"You have a headache now, don't you?" Nicky asked as she sat back, careful to keep her distance. Her caution served her well, and they all respected her for it.

"Yes, it's not so bad. Any change in medications?" He sounded almost hopeful, and Nicky was sorry to tell him no. She stood up and so did he. On impulse she kissed him on the cheek, whispered, "Meet me at the wine bar," and stepped back quickly.

He nodded and smiled easily. "I appreciate your concern, Nicky. I am sure it will pass shortly."

He left without looking at her again, but she knew he would be waiting. It was extremely dangerous to talk to him, but she felt of all the remainder, he would be most likely to take her advice. She finished up her final tasks for the day, headed out.

Unsurprisingly, Mannheim was already waiting when she got there. He gestured her into a chair with the same elegant ease he displayed in everything, waved the waiter over to take her order. He already had a glass of white wine, perfectly untouched. They made idle chit chat about the weather until the waiter returned with her wine. He had clearly been hoping for an order of some food and the promise of a bigger check, but neither intended to stay longer than necessary.

"So, Nicolette, I presume there is a very good reason for you to break the sacrosanct rules. Please, enlighten me as to the reason you requested my presence." His tone was business-like and brisk, not cold but, she knew, well able to become so if he did not deem her reason worthy enough to break the rules. Mannheim was a definite rule follower.

"It's the medication review. It has…not been received with the level of attention I feel it deserves." She was cautious now, her fingers playing with the stem of the wineglass briefly. "I think you should plan to self-regulate a bit for the headaches."

There, it was out now. She had said it and agents hadn't swooped in on the spot for breaking the rules. Not yet, anyway.

Mannheim's face was calculating, curious. "And why do you choose to tell me this, Herchzen? We are not exactly close."

Nicky focused on him, wouldn't allow her brain to drift at all to the rest. She had planned for this inquiry ahead of time. There could be no hint of any close ties to any of them. "Because you are smart enough to have realized this yourself; and you have fewer additional 'issues' that would make it difficult for you to do so."

He leaned close, in a non-threatening manner but still a tiny rachet up on aggressive body language. "And what do you think they would do to me if they found out?"

"I think they would dismiss it as a natural response to the increasing severity of the headaches, especially if you continue to perform your job well. In fact, I think Conklin almost expects it. I don't think he agrees with the decision."

Mannheim leaned back, interlaced his fingers. "I am not sure what to make of this suggestion, Nicky. I am a cautious man; I do not like playing with people who could destroy me."

"I understand. I am merely offering information to you, a pattern. What you choose to do with the information is up to you." She stood, her wine untouched. "I must be going."

He nodded, assessing continually. "Good night, Herchzen."

She didn't look to see what he was doing. She was going to spend several hours in the Louvre before allowing herself to go home, if then. She planned to remain cautious despite this deliberate indiscretion.


	14. Chapter 14

Nicky sighed. Conklin had called Castel in for retraining. He had hospitalized another civilian in Rome, and Conklin was pissed. The difficulty was getting him in. He was not going to come quietly. Conklin wanted her to schedule a regular interview on the pretext of a med change, then take him then. He planned to be here for it, but he also wanted to use another asset to ensure compliance. Jason.

She had to schedule it, then pretend she knew nothing about it when Castel was taken. She was close to asking Conklin if he could be assigned to a separate handler when he returned, but that would be cowardly. She knew he had never crossed the line with her, didn't view her as meat the way he did most women. She had earned his grudging respect due to the agency and her own performance. Nonetheless, it made her nervous to know they were going to "retrain". It was a nebulous quantity, involving more psychological breaking. Who knew what the hell would be sent back in Castel's body.

She didn't want to think about it. It would just give her a headache. She had heard enough about headaches to last a lifetime. Mannheim was down for 24 hours with a migraine, shortening the timeframe for his op. At least she was off cycle with the Professor. Something in her head went off, like a moment of déjà vu. Before she had time to think about it, her cell phone rang.

"You rang?" Jason's voice was calm but alert.

"Yeah. I'm going to need you in the office for a takedown on Friday." She stopped, could see the wheels turning in his brain.

"Who is it?" He was smart enough to know it was one of them. A wariness had crept into his tone, part of the bleedthrough from their personal relationship. He was less guarded with her on the phone, usually when he was dealing with a headache himself. It made her feel so impotent when that happened. She cursed mentally.

"Castel."

"Asshole. Fine. I want the details of the meds. I'm not sticking him if he's not going to go down."

* * *

Conklin came into town a full day early. Nicky knew that it was because Jason had asked him to do so, but in her professional capacity she was surprised when he arrived, Jason in tow. She figured it was good practice for Castel tomorrow.

"You're a day early," she said when Conklin came in. Her desk was more cluttered than it would have been if she had 'known' he was coming. He acted as he normally did, so she took that as a pass for her latest acting challenge.

"I think it's a good idea for us to run through this before it goes down, Nicky. I've asked Jason to join us so we are all on the same page about what needs to happen when Castel gets here."

"Of course." Nicky took a seat, Conklin did the same. He looked at Jason expectantly, and Jason explained, "I'd prefer to remain standing."

Used to the vagaries of the agents, Conklin shrugged. Nicky knew it was because he still had a headache. The less movement, the better for him.

"What tranquilizing agents do you have?" Jason was first to speak, focused on his task.

"Just the standard neuroleptics…chlorpromazine or haloperidol."

"What about pericyazine or thioridazine?" Conklin looked less than pleased at Jason's interrogation of their pharmacopeia. Nicky knew he was probably thinking about her reported theft of the meds in Brussels.

"We have thioridazine, but given his history I don't think that would be appropriate." The discussion was eclipsing Conklin's knowledge of meds, but he was studying both of them. Nicky was careful to keep her tone professional and disengaged.

"What about lorazepam?" Jason leaned in, gestured to Castel's file and looked to Conklin. "If you want me to take him down without killing him, I need to know what he's on already. I guarantee I know more about drug interactions than either of you, and if he doesn't go down I'm killing him."

The matter of fact way that Jason calmly said he was going to kill someone sent a shiver up Nicky's spine. She didn't think she'd ever get used to it, because she knew he meant it.

Conklin stiffened. "I doubt that will be necessary. Whatever we give him will take him down."

Jason was irritated but controlled it well. He had not slept well, the headache gnawing at him through the night. He had been on his own, a situation that he was finding less and less tolerable. That was adding to his stress, the increasing dependence on Nicky. They weren't going to be able to hide their relationship for much longer, and he hadn't figured out if there was any exit strategy possible, some kind of soft landing. Looking at Conklin, he doubted it would involve the agency.

"It won't take him down if it feeds what he's already on. Is he already on antipsychotics?" Conklin's sniff gave him away. Jason let the irritation seep into his tone. "I thought so. Give me the file. You give me a job, you give me the file. I don't give a damn who it is."

Conklin nodded, and Nicky pushed the file across the table. Jason finally sat, a concession to placate Conklin more than from any need to do so. He read the notes, most of them Nicky's. To say the previous handlers had not wanted to delve into Castel's psyche was an understatement. He focused on the list of current medications.

"How sure are you that he's taking these as directed?" His gaze was business-like and open.

"Actually, I think that part of the problem is that he is not taking the antipsychotic regularly. If you look here," Nicky's hand glanced over his, turning the pages, "you can see that his incidents appear to be tied to the increasing frequency of the headaches all the assets are reporting." She looked up at Conklin cautiously. She knew the med changes were still a sore subject for him, but here was more proof of the problem.

Conklin grunted. "Continue, Bourne. What do you think is going to work, then?"

"I suggest we have both sedatives prepped: haloperidol and lorazepam. I'll make the call based on his behavior and responses to Nicky."

"I don't like not having a solid choice in place," Conklin said. "What rationale will you use to decide which one you're going to use?"

"If he's been taking his antipsychotic then I'll know it. If, on the other hand, he shows signs of being acutely psychotic, I'm going straight for the haloperidol. In fact, I'd prefer to add promethazine as well. Do we have that?"

"Yes."

"Do it," Conklin said, nodding to Jason. "Now, Nicky, where are you going to be? I want you clear of him when we enter the room."

"I can go and get the new med sheet. I've left it in the outer office enough times with all of you that it won't seem suspicious," she looked at Jason, who nodded to verify.

"What about you, sir? Are you going to be armed?" Nicky knew she would be best served to keep her weapon out of sight, but Conklin was going to be closer to trouble.

"I'll have my field piece, but I expect that Castel is not going to be focused on me," Conklin said, eyeing Jason.

"He's not going to be happy to see me," Jason acknowledged. "We're both going to know what it means, so I'm not going to mess around. Expect a mess," he said, swiveling his gaze to Nicky, then standing up. "Actually, can we walk through the office, please? I'd prefer to remove potential weapons ahead of time without making it obvious that they are missing."

Nicky nodded and stood up as well. "Of course, you can make whatever changes you think will be necessary, as long as it's not obvious."

"One thing is obvious to me," Conklin observed from his chair. Nicky and Jason both turned to look at him. "I'm going to have to give you some budget funds to redecorate the office after tomorrow, Nicky."

She smiled slightly. "I hope not, sir."

Nicky completed the usual morning paperwork, shredded documents, and sent some preliminary information to the Professor about his annual physical. She worked better that way, focused on one task at a time. It was calming in the face of a storm. She knew Jason and Conklin were already in the building. Jason had come over last night, their time together brief but sweet nonetheless. Jason's headache had receded a bit, let him relax and recharge for a few hours with her. She was humming a bit to herself, turned to find Castel had arrived. He grinned at her, pleased to have surprised her. There was a slightly manic look in his eyes, a look she chose not to acknowledge, merely indicated the office with her hand. He smirked and went in docilely enough, sat down as prescribed in the chair.

"Had any good boyfriends lately, Nicolette?" he asked, always crude.

"How are the headaches?" Nicky had picked up her pen, ready to mark the interview sheet.

"Like this," he said, slamming a ballpoint viciously into the soft wood of the desktop.

"I'll put down, 'worse'." She marked it, considered how many questions to go until she hit the meds.

"Are you sleeping well?"

"Only after beating up a whore. But you know about that, you have to clean it up, don't you? I'm sorry to make so _many_ messes for you, Nick. But that is your job, not mine."

"Yes, it is." Her tone was cool and calm. He was itching for provocation which he would not be getting from her, and he knew it. She shuddered to think what would have happened to some poor woman in Paris today if they weren't going to take him in.

"Been target shooting lately?" He was eyeing her, assessing. She skipped the question about the physical training.

"Are you taking all of your meds?" She was wary of him now. He was unnaturally focused on her. This wasn't good.

"Am I taking all of my meds? Am I taking all of my MEDS? No, Nicky, because they aren't worth a shit!" Castel stood up, towering over her. He was over six feet, and the question of 'psychotic' had moved steadily to 'acutely psychotic' in the time he'd been here.

"There is a new medication schedule, it will help you," Nicky said with as much calm as she could muster as she pushed the desk chair back infinitesimally. It was the wrong move. He lunged for her. Nicky shoved the chair back with all her might. It wouldn't have been enough to save her from his hands that were going for her throat if Jason hadn't slammed into him, knocking him away. Castel roared in rage, punched Jason viciously once before Jason evaded him. Conklin came in, told Castel, "You need retraining, Castel. Bourne is here to ensure your cooperation."

Castel backed away from Jason warily, spotting the hypodermic at the ready.

"Fuck you! I'll kill you all, starting with that bitch and her meds," Castel pulled a knife, slashed at Jason when he came back at him. Jason changed up his plan on the fly. His reflexes were sharper, and he deflected it, planted the first syringe and injected Castel in the forearm. As he had expected, the lorazepam had a paradoxical effect, amping Castel up more. He was more dangerous but also far less likely to follow his training. Jason pulled his own knife, focused on disarming him. The office furniture took a beating; a chair broke the window. Conklin had gotten Nicky out of the room, was ready at the door with his handgun if necessary. Castel's slashes were clumsier, even if rage made him more bullish. Jason continued to evade the knife, finally nicked Castel in the right spot so he was forced to drop it. Panic set in then for him, and Jason could see it. It would only be a matter of seconds. He sheathed the blade and pulled the second hypo full of haloperidol and promethazine. Castel roared and charged. Jason started to engage and pulled, twisted, slamming the needle into Castel's neck as he was swan diving for the floor. Jason kicked him with his foot to roll him over, Castel's breath coming in quick pants.

"Mission complete. You should get him some medical attention, or that triple whammy is going to shut down his respiratory system in about five minutes," Jason said after crouching down to check his pulse. He saw Nicky's wide eyes but was talking to Conklin, who nodded.

"I'll get right on it."

Jason stood up to leave. As he passed Conklin he said, "Personally, I don't think it would be any loss."

Conklin ignored him, continued talking on his phone. Nicky stopped him briefly with a hand on his arm.

"Jason, thank you." Her words held far more meaning than Conklin knew, but it was absolutely appropriate under the circumstances.

"You're welcome." His eyes said far more.

"Why did you use all of them?"

"He was high, Nicky. Either/or was not going to cut it. The only way he was going down was hard."


	15. Chapter 15

Five days later Nicky and Jason were back in the office, Conklin giving the details on Jason's new assignment.

"I want to know everything about how he spends his time. Get me his leisure activities, where he has his money hidden, what size of entourage he travels with. Vacation homes, the lot," Jason was practical in his outline, already thinking about what would be the most likely avenues he could exploit.

Nicky met Jason's eyes and nodded, then resumed taking notes. There was a lot of research to be done, and Jason would be conducting surveillance starting today. Conklin spoke up from the speakerphone.

"He's starting to make noise about going to the media. We cannot allow him to give a scoop to anyone. Jason, I want you making sure he's not spilling his guts to the media before we put a lid on him. If that means you have to bug the whole house, do it."

"I'll see if there is any routine maintenance coming up at the house that would facilitate that," Nicky offered, making another note.

"This could be deeply destabilizing in sub-Saharan Africa. Keep him on a short leash until it's time," Conklin was brisk, efficient. "I want it cleaned up in two weeks or less. I know you can turn this around on a dime, get to it."

"Yes, sir." The phone clicked to a dial tone, Jason picked up and dropped the receiver to disconnect.

"I'll get the address for you now." Nicky turned to do a brief search on the computer, wrote it down. "I expect that will be enough to get you started. When you do you want the vacation home information?"

"Tomorrow if possible," Jason stood up and stretched, a slight hitch in the smooth motion.

"Are your ribs still sore?" Nicky asked, leaning back in her chair a bit. Castel was a heavy hitter, and she knew his ribs were bruised. They had been an ugly purple, but had faded a bit to a sickly green and yellow now. She made a mental note to pick up some beef and vitamin C.

"Just need a few more days of TLC." His tone was casual, but Nicky picked up on the subtext. She had to work hard to prevent a small smile from slipping onto her mouth.

"Anything else you want by this evening?" She was being mischievous now, and she'd pay for it happily later.

"I'll let you know if I think of anything." He left the office, but had to stop a few blocks away. He had forgotten where he was going. He had been thinking about what he wanted from Nicky this evening.

It took a second to remember his destination—a stash of equipment across town for surveillance. He retrieved what he needed, took up a post to observe Wombosi's house. Still, that slip gnawed at him over the next five hours. His training was screaming at him, _I told you so_. He was pissed at himself, and by the end of the day he was pissed at Nicky too. He stretched, committed himself to overnight surveillance. He regretted it at about 1 am, but it was too late then to do anything about it. He was stuck until the morning.

Nicky didn't know why Jason didn't come over. She tried her best not to angst about it, but she couldn't help worrying about him a bit after the double entendres they traded at work. She had to go to Prague tomorrow for a three day assignment with the Professor. He knew it. She texted his private phone, just to say she hoped he was okay. That was safe, non-demanding. For not the first time, she wished they could get off the damn roller coaster. She flipped off the lights and went to bed. Tomorrow would come early.

* * *

"Have you checked the compartments?" The Professor was rifling through the bag she had ready, verifying that everything was there.

"I triple-checked," Nicky assured him. His gaze flicked to her, went back to the bag.

"What about the car?"

"I will drop it at half past two, in the designated lot at the Belvedere."

"And your exit strategy?" He focused on her fully, zipped the bag. No one looking at him would guess that this academic, thin man with the elegant fingers capable of executing beautiful sonatas at the piano was also a master executioner of people.

"I have a ticket on the 3:50 train to Switzerland." She yawned. She had not been sleeping well here, and was exhausted more often than not. She wondered if she was anemic.

He nodded, started to leave the hotel room. However, he paused and turned around. "Be careful, Nicolette."

The way he said it struck an icy note of fear into her heart. She didn't want to inquire further, was afraid of what he would say. "I will."

He said it anyway. "You're never alone. Remember that."

He pivoted and closed the door behind him, leaving her to fear what exactly he meant. She sat down hard on the chair. _Wheeee_… She didn't have to get on a single one to know that she now hated roller coasters for life.

* * *

"I need a cover for my inquiries with Alliance Securité. I'll need the standard background package, annual income of several million dollars. No details about the reason for security, I'll cover that in the on-ground interview," Jason paused, waited for Nicky to finish her scribbling that she was probably doing on the other end of the phone.

"Got it. Wombosi spends a lot of time on the yacht at this time of year, but because he's not permanently on it the staff changes frequently."

"Noted," Jason stopped, thought about asking Nicky to come to Marseille. It was so tempting, he could taste it. However, it would not help him get the work done. He sighed audibly, a side effect of the crushing tension headache he was enduring.

"Is it bad?" Nicky's soft voice was like a balm. He wished he could think of any reason he needed her here for work, couldn't come up with one. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry," she was practically whispering. This back and forth was killing them both.

"That's all for now." He hung up, immediately picked up the personal phone. He wanted to call right now, but instinct forced him to wait, walk several blocks away before making the call to her pay-as-you-go phone.

"Nicky, please come down. I don't have any reason for you to be here, I just want you to be here." He squinted against the reflection from the water, the pain like a knife through his brain.

"I'll be on the next train." He hung up, one side of his brain cursing his weakness and the other clinging to it like a lifeline.

There was nothing that needed to be said. The need was there, and it was met. If both of them realized how insidious the program was, how pervasive, neither said it.

"We need to change this, Jason," Nicky said. "Maybe I could talk to my father, find a way to end it."

Jason shushed her. "I can't talk about it now, Nicky. Get some sleep."

Nicky's exhaustion was obvious. He wondered if she was coming down with something again. She had a touchy digestive system lately, and she slept like the dead. He watched her sleep, the dark circles under her eyes visible without the concealer she had taken to using. Something was off, he just couldn't pinpoint what it was. It was just another worry, another puzzle he couldn't solve. He punched the pillow, finally got up to take half a dose of zolpidem.

-The Next Morning-

"I'm off to work," Jason finished packing his bag, looked at Nicky. He didn't want to kiss her. He never did when he was leaving to do a job.

"Be safe," Nicky said, finishing tucking her hair into a messy bun. She looked only marginally rested, but he couldn't think about it now. She had passed on breakfast, her stomach queasy. She blamed the fish from last night.

He nodded and left the room. Nicky finished getting dressed. She had a train to catch back to Paris.

-Five Days Later-

Nicky couldn't breathe. Nykwana Wombosi was plastered all over the news, claiming he had survived an assassination attempt on his yacht. She had heard nothing from Jason. The dread was crushing, and she was drowning. The phone rang, she blindly answered it.

"Parsons, what the hell has happened to Bourne?" Conklin was upset, angry.

"I don't know. I haven't heard anything from him," she stammered.

"Shit! Do you still have bugs in Wombosi's house?"

"Yes, sir," she said, belatedly turning on the feed.

"Well? What are they saying?" Nicky held the headphones up to her other ear, listened briefly.

"They're talking about shots sir…I think he must have been shot."

"Fuck, damn, blasted-" Nicky listened again to Wombosi's house. "They're going to do a sweep of the house. The bugs will be disabled when they do so."

"Torch your end. At least we might know what happened. Get on the police scanners in Marseille, check for washed up bodies. If Bourne was shot, chances are he's dead or he would have coded by now. Give me an update in 12 hours." Conklin clicked off, annoyed at the loss but well capable of managing it.

Nicky felt nauseous, and was violently ill in the trashcan. _Oh God._


	16. Chapter 16

The relief was briefly sweet and overwhelming. Jason had popped in Zurich. She didn't know what he was doing. Apparently he had cleaned out his deposit box. She hoped it meant he was going to run, was going to get her. She wished she knew what he was thinking. When the order came in to send out the pictures to Interpol, she wasn't worried about him. He could handle himself. But who was this woman, Marie Kreutz? She could think of a dozen reasons why he would be using her, dismissed it from her mind. She sent the notice, rubbed her forehead. At least he was alive. She was certain he was operating under a plan. Eventually, he would let her know what to do. Until then, she had to play her part.

Danny had told her that all the assets were activated. She was concerned about that. Castel in particular, having just returned from retraining, was likely to hold a grudge. She was nervous for him. It was a big risk to run, and he had knowingly drawn all the agency's fire to himself. She could only assume he was doing it on purpose so she would have a chance to slip away when it became obvious. There was a niggling sense of unease pulling at her conscience, but she shoved it away. It was the terrible stress of the past two weeks. Everything was messed up—her sleep schedule, her menstrual cycle, her eating habits. She let out a sigh, rubbed her arms. It was cold today. At least she was not in the middle of hunting him. She didn't know if she could hold it together in the middle of a room full of people trying to kill Jason. He was very good, but he had to stay ahead of them all. She wouldn't think about what Mannheim or the Professor might ask for from her. She couldn't do more than operate more than an hour at a time.

The text from Castel made her blood run cold. Jason was in Paris. At his apartment. Castel was intercepting. She was on the move, heading that way herself. She needed to be there, _now_. He wasn't there for no reason. She was worried about the fall-out. She wasn't ready to go, but she would if that is what he wanted. She was less than a block away when she saw Castel plunge out the window. Her heart nearly stopped. Jesus. She was cautiously approaching, trying to figure out her next steps when she saw Jason. He was still with that woman, hustling her off into a red Mini. Her heart beat a rapid tattoo in her chest. She had to call in Castel. The police were swarming over now, and she knew Conklin was not going to be happy. She thought about following Jason, decided it was pointless. Who knew what the woman was doing, or why she was there. Nicky didn't need to embroil her in more mess than she was already in. It didn't make sense, wasn't clicking with the care that always characterized Jason's plans. The vague unease was growing larger, playing with her emotions. She shoved it aside again, changed direction. She would head for the safe house, call it in. The information about the Mini she would keep to herself.

"He killed our man," she said to Conklin, passing into the office. "No, I can't clean that up."

She listened to him, nodded and realized she was being ridiculous. "Of course I'll monitor the police radio. Yes, I will keep you up to date. Ok, I will tell Danny if anything of interest pops."

She hung up, settled down at the A/V station. Once the radio flared to life, she wondered when she'd have enough of a break to make some tea. _Jason, where are you?_

Six hours later and Nicky was even more nervous. As if Jason's complete silence was not worrying enough, she had received a tip-off that Wombosi had gone to the morgue. The tension that had been growing in her belly was starting to manifest itself again. She had thrown up her tea, felt stressed out about the call she had to make to Conklin. She knew the stress showed in her voice, couldn't help it. She couldn't handle all of this alone. "I am not staffed for this, Alexander!"

Conklin ignored her, hung up the phone. Danny Zorn eyed him, waiting. At least he seemed to have learned some patience, something for which Conklin was profoundly grateful. He wondered briefly about how much Danny would feed back to Abbott, decided it was best to keep him close. It didn't pay to court trouble unnecessarily. "You're with me," he said, leaving the office with purposeful strides.

"Yes, sir," Danny said, grabbing his jacket.

The next morning Nicky was no better. Jason still had not contacted her. It was chafing at her, eating away at her understanding of him. There was no good reason for it. She had passed a restless night, had managed to keep down some dry toast in the morning but couldn't face anything like coffee. She went back to monitoring the radio, listening for any hint that he was still in Paris. Her ears perked up.

"Rouge Mini repéré dans le garage de stationnement à la rue de la Montagne et Chevalier. Correspond à la description des fugitifs d'Interpol. Demande de médecine légale et de techniciens de scène de crime."

Nicky noted the location, turned down the radio to pick up the phone.

"They've pulled the car in Paris," she opened without preamble, not caring what Danny thought about her manner. The only way she was going to get through today was by being brutally efficient.

"Roger that. I'll let Conklin know. Things are pretty nuts around here," Danny said, offering a bit of conversation. He was going to toe the line, but he still missed that date that had been promised.

"I'm sure they are," Nicky said noncommittally. The last thing she needed was Danny offering consolation in the middle of this shit storm. "I'll let you know what they find."

"Thanks." Danny hung up. He knew a dismissal when he heard one.

The tidbits kept filtering in over the next four hours. No prints were found, and the police were stumped. They had, however, a possible lead on their location. Nicky perked up again, was frustrated when the communication was cut deliberately by the police central headquarters. Clearly they knew someone was listening, and were not going to be as forthcoming. She stewed and waited. She hadn't heard anything from the Professor or Mannheim. She took it upon herself to text them both, asking for an update. It was a minor deviation from protocol but one that was forgivable under the circumstances.

What she didn't expect was that the Professor would show up at the safe house himself. Mannheim had responded with a cryptic message, _Delayed_. Of them all, he was the only one with a mission in progress when the call had gone out from Langley. She knew his personal sense of order would not allow him to leave it undone if he was close to completion. She assumed that is what he meant. But to have the Professor show up at the safe house was unusual for him.

"What's really going on, Nicky?" his words were sharp, without preamble. He was leaning across the desk, his body posture non-threatening but deadly intent.

"I don't know what you mean," she replied, a brief flush hitting her cheeks that gave her away. _Damn, what the hell is WRONG with me these days?_

"Don't give me that crap," he said. "You know damn well that your life is not your own. What the hell has been going on with you and Jason Bourne?"

"What would make you think that there is anything 'going on' between me and Jason Bourne?" Nicky demanded, using air quotes to emphasize the ridiculous level she assigned his query. Her survival instinct was burying any fear, trying hard to suppress any body language. He wasn't buying it.

"I saw you," he whispered. "I saw you with him, at the Louvre. That wasn't work. That was personal. Now he's gone rogue. So you tell me right here, right now what the FUCK is going on, or I'm going to haul your ass in myself." He was leaning fully across the desk now, completely infringing her personal space. Nicky sucked in a breath, leaned back. She didn't dare move the chair after the episode with Castel.

"I slept with him. Several times." The bluntly honest answer had him retreating back across the desk, pacing away from her. He shook his head.

"You little fool," he said, his tone tired. "I know that's not all of it." He whirled back around, pinning her with a dagger-like glare. "You broke him, Nicky! You know it and I know it, and it's just a matter of time before the agency knows it too."

She drew a shallow breath, stood up on shaky legs. "I hope you're wrong."

"I'm not wrong. I just hope he survives the experience," he hissed. He came back over to her, grabbed her and shook her. "Don't you understand? We can't HAVE those human relationships anymore! We're dead, Nicky! All of us! We died the minute they stamped 'Treadstone' on our files."

He released her in a masterful display of self-control and stalked out of the office. For the second time in as many days, Nicky broke down and cried. She pulled it together when she got a call, wrote out the direction on the piece of paper. She waited for forty three minutes at the carnival. She tried to dismiss the Professor's spiteful glare when he took the paper, couldn't. She didn't know what time it was when she fell asleep. Her dreams taunted her, the sleep anything but restful.

It was three hours, twenty seven minutes after Nicky woke that the Professor's phone rang. She heard Jason's voice. It washed over her, the relief. But the questions he asked. It was all wrong. Her mind spun crazily. He didn't seem to know Conklin's voice. He was cautious, feeling him out. Something was very, very wrong. She knew the Professor must be dead. _Jesus, Jason, what has happened to you?_ She shoved her fist into her mouth briefly, shut the panic down. What had happened to him? She started to think.


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Notes: Thanks for sticking with the story even though the updates have slowed. Just busy with the family and work, folks. 'Tis the season. For those who haven't read my other Bourne fic, The Bourne Outcome, please check it out-it picks up right where this one will leave off. As you've noticed, there is less action now-Nicky is very good, but it's really the assets who carry the action, so those of you who are fans of that, there's probably not much more coming in this fic. After I'm done I'll be entering the national November novel writing month, under the same handle. I'll post that work over there if you're interested in hopping over to something that's not a fanfic. Later I will be back to pick up Aaron and Marta, post-Legacy. Thanks and keep reviewing!**

There was only one conclusion possible. Jason had amnesia. Something had happened to him on Wombosi's yacht. Something during his attempt. It had fractured him psychologically, wiped the slate clean. He couldn't handle the dichotomy any more. Her analytical mind was convinced that was the reason. Her emotions she had boxed tightly. She had no capacity to deal with them. She had to focus on getting herself through this situation alive and undetected. The Professor had known something was there. She had to hope that none of the rest of them had figured out anything was amiss. Her best shot was to be ultra-professional through whatever Conklin decided was necessary. He was on his way now. She had to be at the top of her game. She could not afford to do less. Her life was very much on the line. She had to package Jason up, set him aside. She would deal with it all later, when she was safe. Right now, it was about work.

Conklin wanted the office shut down. She shredded papers, transferred files. It was all very efficient, very mechanical. Exactly what she was when she started in the program. Was it only two years ago? She corralled her thoughts hard, forced her fingers to fly across the keyboard. Conklin was super professional, corresponding with the agents outside via his commlink and handing her files wordlessly that needed to be verified electronically before shredding. They were almost done when the security system started to go offline. She played dumb, asked even though she knew. She knew who it was. She hadn't discussed her theory with Conklin. She wasn't stupid. He had likely reached a similar conclusion.

"Where is your field box?" Conklin was agitated, nervous energy pouring through his frame. Nicky knew what was coming. She could only watch.

Jason's entry was predictable. She hadn't even thought about her field weapon for precisely that reason. What was the point? Jason was interrogating Conklin, every word verifying her hypothesis. _He doesn't remember me. He doesn't know who Conklin is._ She listened cautiously, blending into the background. Conklin was aggressive, his training responding to the malfunction in the hope he could re-bend Jason's will to his own. Nicky knew better. David Webb had broken free, and he wasn't going back into the Bourne box willingly again in his lifetime.

She watched him punch Conklin once, twice. He had declared his independence, and it didn't include her. She squelched her emotional response again, even as her heart fractured to do so. He looked at her, seeing her but not seeing _her._ This was what death felt like, behind the marionette professional mask. He had seen the wire, knew the agents were coming. He moved toward the door. Nicky watched him incapacitate the agent, heard the rest of the gunfire. Conklin regained consciousness, glanced at her briefly before leaving with her field piece. Her legs finally gave out, and she slid down onto a chair. That was where the response team found her thirteen minutes later. She didn't say a word, couldn't tell them anything. It would all come out wrong. She was tired.

"I think she needs to get out of here," Danny said quietly to Ward, both of them looking at her as she dozed in the field office. "She won't say a word about what happened."

Ward had read her file, and he knew John Parsons. "I think that might be best," he said, looking at his watch. "She can hop back with us. We're done here anyway."

She was physically and mentally exhausted, which made it that much easier to resist offering any information about the events at the safe house. She just let them do what they wanted to do. Danny helped her pack a case at her apartment, bundled her along on the plane to Langley. If it occurred to her that she was going to be headed straight for a date with an agency shrink, she didn't care.

"And that is all you can remember about that evening?" This psychologist was female. They were dancing around her, hoping for a difference. She was number four. The fact that one of their top assets had not only broken training but had killed two others and escaped was rubbing them all the wrong way.

"Yes." Nicky was blunt and quintessentially professional. "Are we done now?"

"One more question, Ms. Parsons. You are sure that there were no signs that Jason Bourne was about to crack?" The woman leaned forward, her tone slightly warmer as if to encourage confidence. "No one would think less of you for missing something then, but it's important that we know now if anything has occurred to you."

"I told Conklin and Abbott in my report about the medication changes. They were all getting worse. I said then that one of them would crack. I had no way of knowing it would be Bourne. After Castel, frankly, I'm just glad I made it out of the program alive." Nicky's tone of voice was frostier, disapproving. For all she knew, this woman was one of those responsible for ignoring her warnings. They had thrown all the agents to the wolves. She was part of the carnage.

"Yes, of course I've read your reports. But the medication changes should not have caused such a breakdown…" the woman stopped as Nicky stood up.

"Am I free to go? Because I'm done here. I've said everything that could be said about the experience. Rather than helping me get past a very traumatic event, I'm afraid you and your colleagues only seem intent on making me relive it daily. I'm done now."

"Of course," she stood as well, gestured to the door. Ward Abbott watched in silence with John Parsons behind the glass as Nicky left the room.

"I sincerely hope you're not intending to embroil her in Blackbriar," John said, quirking an eyebrow at Ward.

"No, no. I don't think she's over what happened to Treadstone. Bourne killing Conklin was a bit of a shock to her…I know she considered him to be a good mentor," Ward said smoothly. "I think she can do field logistics if she likes, but Blackbriar is out of the question for now."

John nodded satisfactorily. "I'm glad that you see that."

Nicky drove back to her parents' house. She was still exhausted all the time. The endless interrogations at work and home were driving her crazy. How long had she been back here? A week? She parked and fled to her room, grabbed her day planner to look at the calendar. She flipped through the pages idly, her mind skipping through the last few months. She got to February, counted back. _Counted back._ She sat upright, flipped back to December. Circles. The first week. January—no circles. February…_Oh my God._

She dashed downstairs, ignored her mother coming in. "Nicky, where are you going?" She needed a drugstore, NOW.

-Three Days Later-

Nicky took a deep breath, dialed the number in her new cell phone. She hadn't spoken to her aunt in years, didn't even know if this was still her number. She lived in Sedona, Arizona. Her father hated her with a passion, her mother disapproved of her nontraditional lifestyle.

"Hello?" Her aunt's flowery voice answered the phone, and Nicky felt a small bit of tension easing.

"Aunt Tam? Hi, it's Nicky," she said carefully, not sure how to proceed.

"Nicky! What a delight, I'm so happy to hear your voice! How are you pet? Are you still working for the CIA, or have you come to your senses and left that soul-sucking place behind?"

Nicky could picture her aunt easily, graying honey blond hair in a loose topknot, probably wearing some peasant skirt and blouse or ethnic ensemble she picked up from India or Pakistan or Singapore.

"Actually, that's what I want to talk to you about. I can't talk to Mom and Dad, but the fact is that I'm in a bit of trouble…"

An hour later she hung up the phone, trembling from the emotions coursing through her but relieved that she had a firmer plan. The last hurdle was a meeting with Ward Abbott. She checked her watch. Three o'clock. She had an hour and a half to get herself organized and ready to explain her request for a six month leave from the agency. She blew out a shaky breath, chugged some more water. It helped with the queasiness. She wouldn't think about the reason for it, focused instead on her story.

"So, I feel as if it was somehow something I missed," Nicky explained. She had infused shame into her voice, as if she were personally responsible for the mess.

Ward leaned back at his desk and regarded her through his glasses, coupled his hands. "Well, Nicky, I understand why you might feel that way, but you know as well as I do that you did an excellent job for us. I'm sorry if our psychologists couldn't help you see that."

"As you know, I started here right after college. My master's degree was completed in line with my training. I really haven't…" Nicky trailed off deliberately, looked out the window and bit her lip. "I haven't given myself a chance to see if this is what I'm really best at. I don't think I can do any good here until I figure that out." She gave a tremulous smile, looked back at him. "I just need some time to figure it out, sort through everything."

"Of course, Nicky, of course you do. I don't think it's unreasonable to ask for six months to travel and work through it. But you do know that we can't just turn you loose?" he paused, but there was no hint of suspicion in his tone. He was completely the father figure, a friend of her dad's, and that is exactly where she wanted him.

"Of course not," she said. "I understand that my debrief won't be considered complete until all of the psychologists are agreed that I've settled the issues for myself. I would expect to keep in touch regularly, on a schedule."

Ward sighed, took off his glasses. "I know this has been hard on you, Nicky. It's harder knowing your father as I do. But I can also understand why it might be difficult to work through this from this side of the water." He rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. "All right, I'll approve your leave. Just do me a favor—be ready to go when you get back, hmm?"

He put his glasses back on, shaked her hand. "We'll miss you in the field, Nicky."

"Thank you sir. I hope to return to it." Nicky remained collected until she was in her car, then let out a shuddering breath. Everything was so much more important now, so much more valuable. She had a precious gift, a child from Jason, and she was going to keep it safe.

-More Than Two Years Later-

Nicky took a deep breath, exhaled. She thought finally, maybe, she was about to reclaim her life. The cold was invigorating, refreshing. She had always loved autumn, but now it meant she was closer to being back with her boy for good. She had laid the groundwork with her field boss, was finally officially off the radar for any remnants from Treadstone. She smiled, thinking about her last trip to Switzerland. David was actually stringing sentences together, his interest in toys changing to things like Lego and simple board games. Tam kept her updated via email, and she occasionally enjoyed a Skype with them. It still felt risky, but the level had changed, lessened. She remembered her conversation with Tam next to Lake Lucerne in the summer.

"Do you still think about Jason?" Her aunt's question was gentle and airless. Anyone who didn't know her would think it was a flighty inquiry, easily shrugged off. But Nicky knew Tam better then, and it was her way of probing gently.

"I'd be lying if I said no," Nicky said, looking at David running about, dragging a balloon behind him. "But he's not the Jason I knew any more, Tam. If he were going to remember me, the odds are it would have happened by now."

"Do you wonder if he's dead?" Tam was persistent, got up to chase David back easily to a manageable distance.

Nicky had thought about that, a lot. Usually it was late at night, when she was alone and missing company, craving that companionship. "I don't know. I'd like to think he's happy somewhere, but the agency wouldn't tell me if he were dead."

"Would it be easier to know if he were?"

"No," she said quickly, too quickly. "That is, I suppose it would give it an end. Right now it's just hanging there, unknown…" Nicky's voice trailed off. If she were being honest, it was her worst nightmare. She still wanted to hope, to dream.

"You're young, Nicky. There's nothing wrong with hope, darling. Just remember, you can't have a full life on hope alone." She patted Nicky's hand. "You'll find the right path for you, we all do!"

And here it was, right before her. The office admin, Nicholas, poked his head in the door. "We're going out to grab a bite, want to come?"

His grin was infectious. "Sure, I'll just get my coat."

Nicky was laughing with them, bustling out through the square when the car pulled up. Ward Abbott got out. She hadn't seen him in a long time. Instantly her expression sobered. This could only mean one thing. Just when she thought it was far enough out, Jason had put her back to square one.


	18. Chapter 18

*Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, or the movies. Enjoy.*

-Berlin, Germany-

Nicky hustled along after Danny into the field office. Pamela Landy was completely in charge, directing the team of field techs with the hustle of a drill sergeant. She was competent, focused, and tenacious. She was Nicky's worst nightmare. This woman was going to get to the bottom of Bourne and his apparent defection, and Nicky had to stay out of her way at all costs. There was nothing more important than protecting David. She listened silently as the team debated Jason's appearance on camera in Naples, mentally shook her head at them, their reasoning.

"It's not a mistake. They don't do mistakes. They don't do random. There's always an objective." They all stared at her like she was crazy. They had no idea what they were dealing with. She didn't bother to look at Ward. He had always been detached from the process, removed the blood and guts on the ground and the insignificant details of how the assets operated.

As they ran through the details of Bourne's behavior, Nicky recognized pieces, a pattern. He was acting like the Jason she knew. He had a clearly defined set of objectives, of that she was sure. The question was why. Why had he popped up after over two years? The pieces didn't add up. When he had said he wanted to be left alone, he had meant it. Now he was focused on drawing CIA attention, deliberately. Something had set him off…but what? She had heard nothing about a resumed hunt for him. There was something not right here, something she couldn't put her finger on but which spelled danger for all of them. She crossed her arms and waited. _Your move, Jason, as always._

_-_Munich, Germany-

Jason Bourne had a new mission. He was going to find whoever was responsible for Marie's death, and they were going to pay. He didn't know who he had been, but if they couldn't leave him in peace, he would bring it to them. It was all that mattered to him now. His mind was sharpened by the cold relief of Marie's death, his training collaborating with his heart for a change to achieve a common goal.

Jason remembered the apartment. He remembered the face, the voice. There were fragments of the memory still missing, but he knew it was possibly another lead. He disarmed the alarm, reset it, and waited. The man arrived within forty minutes. He was still suave, still urbane. The cold calculations in his eyes didn't stop from the second he pulled his weapon from the fridge. Jason knew there was a reason this one was still alive. He would have to be very careful with him.

"Word in the ether was you'd lost your memory." There it was, that casual confidence that this one had always worn like a cloak. Jason saw another brief flash: white walls, a hallway, the training. This man had been this way for a long, long time.

"You still should have moved."

Their conversation was a series of sly thrusts and parries. Jason was trying to make sense of it, process the information. They were the only two left, the only two Treadstone assassins. He couldn't remember his codename, nor recall how he knew where he had lived.

Then the German apologized for the agents. The stakes had just been elevated. Jason was formulating a plan when the phone rang and the man moved. Then it became a question of survival. Their fighting was intensely focused from the start. Their training had been too good. Neither one gave ground easily, each used whatever was available to attack and defend. The phone cord was around his neck, and he instinctively held onto the man's leg, funneled his hand through. They could both recognize that the end was near. The chess pieces were almost all played. Jason did what he had to do, avoided the last grabs of the dying man. He was pissed off enough to not be sorry at the moment, the focus and adrenaline rewarding his id for surviving again under intense attack.

The gas line and toaster were automatic, necessary. It would delay the field agents. He didn't care anymore if any of them were injured. Collateral damage. Jason was mad at the other asset, angry that he'd been pushed to kill yet again. It was self-defense and a very necessary kill, but it still stung. The adrenaline rush was familiar, the aching of a conscience that had been long-suppressed by the conditioning was an annoyance that was still unfamiliar aftermath, one that he was able to easily shelve. _Look what they make you give_. Jason chalked yet another kill up to his mysterious former employer and refocused on Pamela Landy, in Berlin. He was going to get more answers, now.

-Berlin, Germany-

It was a simple matter to find her. The availability of what most people assumed was private information was always the first thing they tried to exploit. Jason didn't bother to analyze who this woman was, or why she thought he was involved in a double murder in Berlin. His own fragmented memories of Berlin made it impossible to know what she was accusing him of. He needed more information to tease out what had prompted the attack on him and Marie in India, why NOW they had become higher priority targets.

Pamela Landy was clearly involved somehow. He may not understand who she was, but he was going to get information from her. If she didn't give him the answers he needed, she would die. It was a very simple equation to him, and he was perfectly prepared to do it. Without the restraint of Marie's conscience, his training was in control of his thinking. His emotions were in acquiescence—these people had no conscience of their own, why should he attempt to recover his? He looked through the sight and pressed the call button. Pamela's answers were calculating, careful. He respected that, but he didn't like her, didn't like all the things she stood for. She was far too clever to give him what he wanted, was trying to drag him out, figure out what was making him tick. He wasn't interested in playing her game. His finger rested on the trigger, ready to squeeze. Then he saw her. The girl. The one from Paris. Something flashed in his brain, something that said _she_ wouldn't lie to him. He followed that thought.

"There was a girl in Paris. She was part of the program," Jason was looking at her, his mind pulling facts that until that second had been buried deep in his brain, "She used to handle logistics. Thirty minutes, Alexander Strasse. Send her alone. Give her your phone."

He grinned mentally at her request to play for time. "She's standing right next to you." He couldn't explain it, but he knew that girl would give him some of the answers. He felt it in his gut. He finished packing up the rifle and left for the square.

-Berlin Field Office-

The arguing about the best security approach was irrelevant to Nicky. She was more interested in what Pamela Landy was willing to do with her personal safety. She had not gotten a read on her yet, didn't trust herself not to give anything away. When Ward challenged Pamela about their objective, both of them stared at her. Nicky felt obligated to draw attention away from herself, validated Ward's stance that they should be trying to kill Jason. Between the two of them, Ward was less likely to pry into her background, and Pamela was far too sharp to leave stones unturned in her hunt for Bourne. Nicky had to keep herself and David at the forefront. Jason's reasons for asking for her were unclear. She didn't dare allow her mind to wander. Pam Landy was dangerous, period. She wanted to get away from her before she started looking more closely at the program, at Paris. She had benefitted from Abbott's laziness and her father's clout. Landy didn't know her father, didn't care about her personally. The sooner she extricated herself from Landy's operation, the safer she would be.

"Keep this on you at all times," Pamela said as she handed her the cell phone. "Good luck, Nicky."

She kept quiet and helped wire herself up, climbed into the van for the trip to the Alexander Strasse. No one tried to tell her what to say. The field agents were focused on their roles, and Nicky was left to contemplate Jason's latest move in peace. As had been the case for nearly three years, she had no idea why he was doing this. There would have been some small comfort in that consistency if not for the fact that he had remembered her.

-Alexander Strasse, Berlin-

Nicky stood alone and waited. Her thoughts had been in a whirlwind ever since Jason had asked for her specifically, had _seen_ her. She shivered slightly, turned to look around the square again. There were protest marchers coming in, waving banners and flags. Nicky knew this would have been a deliberate choice by Jason. She didn't really expect the snipers to provide any protection for her, nor the field teams. They just didn't understand what Jason was capable of. Ward Abbott knew, but he was not interested in helping Landy at all. Nicky had been thinking about it, now understood perfectly that Ward would throw her under the bus before he'd compromise his own interests in this, whatever they were. She now had another piece of the puzzle to think about—what was Ward Abbott's role in this?

Right now, though, her focus was on Jason. What could he possibly want from her? She didn't want to let herself get carried away with assumptions. At first her heart had rejoiced that he remembered her even as she had maintained a normal, semi-frightened response. But she had learned via hard experience that she had to judge what she actually _saw_, and not what she hoped was there. He remembered her logistics work. It didn't mean that he remembered anything else. He wanted answers. She was going to give them to him, as much as she knew, and trust that yet again her open honesty with him would save her life.

The phone rang and she answered it. "Get on the tram." She moved toward the tram obediently, boarded it and looked out the doors as it moved off. The field team was left outside. The dithering about decision-making—it was the death of the field agent. They were not capable of making the life/death decisions on a nanosecond timescale.

Less than eight seconds and the tram would stop. She knew it was coming now, was only barely surprised when Jason appeared at her side and pulled her out the door and into the throngs of protestors. Now it was on. She went on the offensive, her words echoing what was a plea from her heart: _Jason, please don't hurt me._ She left unspoken, _again_.

"What did I say? Leave me alone." Jason felt a panoply of emotional responses to her words, couldn't pinpoint any of them. They were swirling around with all of his unanswered questions and he felt more unsettled than usual. Clinically he knew his adrenaline had kicked up again, but didn't want to have to hurt her.

He was pulling her roughly along. He was agitated, his mind matching the aggressive pace he was setting as he hurried her underground. She kept using his name, trying to spark some visceral memory of their relationship, some psychological thread that would keep him from killing her. She did what she always did with any asset, she gave him the information he wanted as factually as possible.

She was cooperating, giving him answers. That's all he wanted, for God's sake. Why the hell did they have to make it so difficult for him? And what the FUCK was this bullshit about him killing an agent and a mole? He stopped, slammed her back against a pillar before he could stop himself. "THAT is crazy! I was four thousand miles away, watching Marie die."

The anger was back, clawing at him with the visual of Marie's dead body floating away. He knew she was wired, knew they could hear him. Good, let them know he was calling them on the total BULLSHIT they were feeding this girl and everyone else. He propelled her into the bunker, slammed the door shut. She wasn't done talking, by a long shot.

Jason was very upset, his movements abrupt. Nicky was on hyper-alert, worried about him but terrified that he was going to hurt her. He was emotional, amped up on anger and grief. She had no idea he'd stayed with Marie. He'd told them she was dead. More laziness from Abbott. Her brain filed that away to consider later, but her very real present worry was how he was behaving.

"Neski," Jason said, recognition written on his face. Nicky was stunned, struck dumb. Why would he know that name? She couldn't make sense of it, but he had already moved on, asking about his first job.

"No, you've never worked in Berlin," she said, sticking to the facts. She wasn't lying, her eyes and tone pleading the truth to him. He wasn't buying it, got angrier. Her whole existence narrowed to the cold barrel of the gun he pointed against her temple. In the heat of his anger and emotion he finally remembered her name, used it for the first and last time.

"I know I was here, Nicky! I know I was here!"

She couldn't do anything other than plead, tell him how scared she was. He was so devoid of control, hanging on by the thinnest of threads. She was certain she was going to die, could only think of her sweet boy and plead. His hand shook for the briefest of seconds as he grappled with whatever demons that were assailing him, and then the weight of it, and Jason, were gone. She sobbed uncontrollably, wracked again by the grief of loss, the unbearable strain of her situation. She didn't move for hours.


	19. Chapter 19

**Author's Notes: Close to the end here kids...going to have to go to my other story, The Bourne Outcome, to see where it picks up. I can't tell you how much fun this has been to write. I have reformatted "Outcome" as a script, but as a total newb I doubt it will go anywhere. I can dream, eh? Expect an epilogue to this, but it's almost all done. Thank you all who have reviewed, as this is only my second story ever (!) it is nice to get encouragement. Thanks for reading!**

-Madrid, Spain-

"Have you ever considered morality, Nicky?" Neal Daniels was leaning on the windowsill, looking at the street below. He was more distracted than he had been of late, an edginess creeping in to his body language.

After Ward's suicide and the roiling of the agency, she had realized she was never going to be permitted to leave. That much was made clear to her when Neal Daniels requests her personally for Blackbriar a scant week after Berlin. They'd gone through her files closely, seen how good she was at black ops logistics. She would never be allowed to leave on her own terms. Daniels was a friend of her father's, tightening the noose still further. At least he didn't talk to her father much, sparing her the shadow of his interference. It suited Daniels as well, allowing him to operate in relative privacy with such agency connections, including John Parsons' daughter on his staff.

"Of course, sir. I just don't consider it in the course of work," Nicky replied truthfully. She had been working on Blackbriar under Daniels for over a year, and while his reflective periods had provided her with a lot of background on Treadstone, she wasn't entirely comfortable being his confessor. However, he left her alone, and was uninterested in her personal life. At this point that was worth its weight in gold to her. She corresponded cautiously with Tam now. Being back in the middle of Blackbriar had given her the increased scrutiny that comes with it. There were no more vacations, no more Skypes; only carefully worded emails discussing her aunt's life and how her 'garden' is thriving. Nicky would be bitter, but she can't afford it. She has to keep all of her energy focused on being ready to defend herself, to stay one step ahead.

"Every day we do things that many would consider immoral, in the name of the greater good. At what point does the individual good become more important, I wonder?"

This was a rhetorical question, but he was looking at her for an answer anyway. She swallowed, answered.

"Only when your personal survival is against a nebulous 'greater good', I think."

Her honesty was apparently the thing he prized, that everyone prized. _Damn honesty, anyway. What the hell has it brought me but pain and loss?_ But in her heart she knew she couldn't change who she was. She would continue to be honest and pay the price accordingly. Her thoughts flashed to David, who the last time she saw him had lost almost all of his baby fat, very much a young boy now. It was a painful price to pay. She betrayed none of these thoughts in her expression, waited for Daniels to say something else.

"Thank you, Father Nicky," he said. "I won't ask how many 'Hail Marys' it will cost me. We both know the price is too steep now, eh?" He patted her shoulder, turned to go back into his office. "Thank you for listening to me yet again. I promise to stop using you as my confessor soon," he paused and looked out the window quickly again, almost as if he expected to see someone there. "They say confession is good for the soul." His voice ended on a dark note, melancholic. He turned and entered the other room without another word, closed the door.

Nicky looked at his travel schedule. Something was up. She found it with a bit of digging…he was flying to Turin tomorrow. Her pulse picked up. Change was in the air. She hoped she was ready. She sent a text quickly to Tam. She wanted to talk to her boy before Daniels left. The jittery feeling, the one that was creeping over her skin…it was never good. The roller coaster was about to take a dip.

* * *

The bank transfer flagged on Nicky's personal laptop. When Simon Ross' pieces had been published, she had gone on hyper-alert. Then word filtered through about Ross' assassination yesterday, masterminded from Langley. Noah Vosen. Just his name made Daniels edgy. He was going to run.

She had bent quite a few laws to track Daniels' funds, but didn't give a damn any more. Her answer to him a few days ago had been completely truthful, in that she had done exactly that in order to protect herself, stay one step ahead of trouble. Now Neal had gone and brought trouble to her. It was only a question of which kind of trouble would land on her doorstep: agency or Bourne. She hoped for the latter, even though he was not the same person. She exited her apartment, headed for the office. The dusk had fallen swiftly, and she drove aggressively. She had to be there for the searchers, whoever they were.

Her heart hoped against hope it would be Jason who turned up. Even now, she ached for him. Jason would be the last person to want the mire of amnesia, the hideous and slow reveal of everything he was. But she knew she would welcome him back in her life, even as much as she dreaded it. She had realized that if she wanted out, she was going to have to help Jason find his way out too. She wondered briefly if he had remembered anything. Her psychology training told her that he might never recall it, and she tamped it down as she went up the stairs. It felt off, an uneasiness clinging to the air. It was made very clear when she opened the door and yet again she was staring at Jason Bourne in the flesh, and he was again holding a gun aimed at her.

Jason's heart skidded with the thud of recognition, her name flashing in his mind. Nicky Parsons. His gut said he could trust her, but his training was in command. "What are you doing here?"

"I was posted here after Berlin."

The phone rang and he motioned for her to answer it. It was the first time he heard Noah Vosen's name, but Nicky was not surprised by it. He made a note of it. She knew more. But then she surprised him yet again.

"My car is outside. I know where Daniels is."

Jason finally agreed with his gut instinct and lowered the gun. He strode over and dialed a number, spoke in Spanish to the emergency operator and fired the gun. "Let's go."

Nicky experienced the paradox of a heightened adrenaline rush and relief. At last, they were working together again.

* * *

The coffee was good and strong, the conversation halting. It had a dream-like quality to it, as if it were an alternate reality. Her battered heart finally pushed her to ask the question that had been on her brain ever since she had seen him again. "You really don't remember anything, do you?"

"No."

That one answer was so final, so brusque. She kept control of herself, as she always had. She supposed, in a cold, clinical part of her mind, that she would cry about it eventually. Right now she was too disconnected from her emotions to even contemplate it. It was just a statement of fact to him. If he thought about why she would ask, he didn't show it. His emotions were either frozen or in a white hot rage about what had been done to him. She understood why he had it all packed up, respected him for the survival instincts that drove it. But she would never stop mourning its necessity.

"We need to move."

-Tangier, Morocco-

It was effortless, the way they worked together. They hadn't even had to discuss the plan. Nicky had the computer up and running, Jason looking over her shoulder. It could have been another op, positions they had played out countless times. She typed quickly, working through the systems and getting into the subsystems they needed. Jason was working ahead as usual, already picking out the easiest and most logical way to get to Daniels. Nicky sent the order to Desh's phone, looked at him. He was ready…time to go.

-The Medina, Tangier-

The explosion sent a shockwave of action through the crowd of people. Nicky jumped in her chair, tried to make sense of the confusion. She was looking for Jason, couldn't see him anywhere. Then she saw Desh. He was looking right at her. _Oh shit_. She got up and walked away rapidly. He was following her, she was certain of it. Her fingers moved nimbly and quickly, disassembling her phone and dropping the pieces like breadcrumbs. Jason would understand, he would follow. She had to think he was still alive, too experienced not to be.

The crowds were thick, the calls of stall hawkers eliciting little attention from the crowds at this time of day. She kept looking back, saw Desh coming for her. She would have donned a headscarf if she could get out of view for long enough, but he was impossible to shake.

Jason had his own problems with the Moroccan police. The hairspray provided enough of a distraction to give him both a weapon and some distance. On the downside, he was now five stories up from where Nicky was being pursued by Desh. He spotted her, Desh still behind. As long as she stayed ahead in the crowd, she had a chance. He went up to the rooftops, ran in the right direction. The police were determined bastards, were clambering over the roof tops as fast as they could.

The call to prayer echoed, the crowds thinning in response. Nicky was going to be in real trouble now if she couldn't stay away from Desh. Jason stopped, searched the roofline and alleys for clues. He saw Desh, then spotted Nicky as she jumped to another building. He counted rooflines, started running again. He made it just in time. He was younger, with different training, but experience mattered.

If there had been any doubt that they were in it together, it was erased the second Nicky attacked Desh. A long time from now it would occur to him that it meant a lot more than survival, but in the heat of the fighting it was lost in the noise. He couldn't forgive himself for the look on her face as she looked at him and Desh's dead body. It was worse, having someone to witness it. No matter how many times he killed, up until now the tragedy of that final picture had been his alone to bear. Now she would bear it too. He felt sorry for dragging her into this, but couldn't let himself say it. He removed the phone and tossed it to her, said what needed to be done. He would deal with the self-loathing later.

"You're going to have to run now."

Nicky was silent, couldn't say anything. She wanted to scream, _I've already been running, Jason! I've been running for four years, all because of you and this damn agency!_ But she knew that was lying to herself. She had chosen it, just like he had. She had signed up willingly, never considering the consequences to her future self, to her child, _their_ child. Her heart begged to tell him, to make him see the true stakes. But she couldn't do it to him. It was enough of a burden he was carrying, the search for why he had become Jason Bourne. She couldn't add to it, and she couldn't risk David. He was better than a cat with nine lives, but how many did he have left? She had to run. She stood up and left the room before she could say anything. Silence, though painful, was far better.

He wished he could say something more, be more comforting. There was more there, deep and dark undercurrents between them. Neither one had the will or stamina to dive into them. They remained silent as she packed, when he walked her to the bus station. He said what he could honestly say, a _quid pro quo_ for her unceasing honesty with him.

"It gets easier."

And it **was** easier for him to dismiss her dark eyes from his mind. Without the weight of the undercurrents, he could just let it float away so he could focus on the next part of discovering who he was. Nicky, on the other hand, struggled with all her might to keep from being drowned by them.


	20. Chapter 20

-Zurich, Switzerland-

Jason had traced her latest identity. The bank was familiar, tugged at him for some reason. It would not be easy to access her account information and pull her current address, but that wasn't his goal. Instead he was going for the ATM network. The pattern of her withdrawals would get him close enough. The back story was convincing, and his FINMA credentials were impeccable. The blonde woman was peremptory until she saw the credentials, then she became incredibly conciliatory. Jason had always found the Swiss banking industry to be hideously rigid unless they were dealing with someone with enough clout at FINMA to make their lives difficult. Experience was a very effective teacher.

He was allowed complete access to the programs that ran the bank's account system. The program on his flash drive was running a standard security check on the desktop, and a hidden fishing program beneath. With the passport information, it took less than five seconds for him to pull the data he needed.

"Wo befinden sich Ihre Server?" Jason tapped his tablet and made notes, his manners perfunctory. He could tell the woman was eager to be rid of him, and he was equally eager to oblige her.

"Sie sind in drei sichere Standorte, ein in der Zentrale und zwei andere international." Jason could tell that she wanted to sniff patronizingly at him, but didn't dare.

"Vielen Dank, dass alles was ich brauche hier zu sein." Jason shook her hand and made a brisk exit. He didn't wait to look at the data, slotted the flash drive into the tablet as soon as he turned the corner and got back into the car.

It took him thirty seconds to download the data from the bank and get the pattern. Rafz. Jason looked at his watch. It was 2:30 now. He could be there in half an hour. He hoped she was still ready to run. He glanced in the rearview mirror, merged smoothly onto the A1. He had been tracing dead leads, keeping track of Landy's Congressional hearings, the backdoor dealings in the agency. More scattered assets, more bullshit, more Americans dead for no good reason. It pissed him off. Now there was a sense of urgency again. He had to find Nicky quickly. Thanks to her father, the last name "Parsons" had just become poison again, and she was going down if he didn't get to her first.

****That's it, folks. Thank you for all reviews and please read what happens next at "The Bourne Outcome"! ****


End file.
